#them not being worn as commonly is not an excuse not to wear one to THIS show where this is the 2nd cast member out due to illness

[lopez-richter-fangirl]

Really pissing me off that people are replying to TCB’s mask tweet saying it’s not common to wear masks in the UK anymore… as if it is in the US either?? That’s why they have to ask

[onegirlatelier]

April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 5

Pairing: Professor!Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: none (if there are, please let me know)

A/N: Did I mention this was a slow burn?

___________________________________________________

It's been a few months since the hand incident in the Great Hall, and while you and Remus are almost inseparable, you make no moves to go past being really good friends. You feel like you were both seventeen again, dancing around each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. It's frustrating, you think. You want nothing more than to just do something. Anything. But you don't. You don't act on anything. You don't pull him by that crooked tie he wears to make his lips meet yours. You don't hold his hand while walking through Honeydukes together, watching as he throws countless chocolate bars in his basket. You don't bang on the door to his living quarters, panting, before expressing your undying love to him. Yeah, because that wouldn't be embarrassing.

You do, however, start to pick up on Remus' strange disappearances. You're not stupid; you know what it is. Everything clicked into place after he kept making excuses as to why he couldn't go to Hogsmeade with you, why he always looked so worn out after a full moon, and why Snape had to take over some of his lessons a few days out of the month. It also makes sense as to why he would skip classes when he was younger, and why the Marauders also disappeared.

You thought about how James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus always had those strange nicknames; however, you reckoned "Moony" fit Remus perfectly. You knew he was a werewolf. You felt dumb for not figuring it out sooner. However, Remus hasn't told you yet. This must have been the truth he has always wanted to tell you.

Though a small part of you yearned for him to confide in you and a little hurt that he hadn't yet, you also respected his wishes and wanted him to come to you when he was ready. You can't help but think about how lonely he must feel when he transforms once a month. He must miss the company of his friends. You thought about each one of them, even Peter, who, though you hardly ever interacted with, felt sad that he had also passed due to the hands of Sirius Black.

Peter always was the weird one out of the group, keeping to himself and disappearing every so often. Because of this--and though you are ashamed to admit it--you forgot he existed. The only reason you remembered him is because you stumbled upon an old picture of the four of them in an old Hogwarts yearbook you nicked in the staff's lounge. However, the more you thought about it, the less sense the whole situation made. You knew Sirius. It wasn't in his nature to become a cold-blooded killer. The idea of betraying Lily and James seemed foreign, and only finding Peter's finger? Yeah, there was no way.

The buzz of students filled the classroom as they walked in, and you took a deep breath, forcing the swirling thoughts into the recesses of your mind. Greeting each student with a warm smile, you started your lesson with an air of enthusiasm.

"Now, class, today we're going to dive into the fascinating world of counter curses. The spell you'll be practicing is 'Finite Incantatem,' commonly used to stop the effects of many spells. Handy, isn't it?"

You demonstrated the wand movement and pronunciation, emphasizing the importance of precision. The room hummed with anticipation as students eagerly brandished their wands, ready for practice.

Harry, sitting near the back, raised his hand, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Professor, is this the spell you use to stop other spells during a duel?"

You nodded, impressed with his insight. "Exactly, Harry. It's a versatile spell, useful in various situations. Now, give it a go."

As students practiced, you moved around the room, offering guidance and encouragement. Conversations flowed, and you found yourself engrossed in the magical discussions that blossomed. Harry, in particular, seemed keen on perfecting the spell, his determination shining through.

"Good job, Harry! Your wand movement is getting smoother," you praised, smiling as he beamed with pride. The class continued, a lively exchange of ideas and discoveries filling the air.

With the last lesson of the day concluded and the students filing out, you felt a sense of accomplishment. The last of your students finally left the room, and you took a moment to collect your materials.

As you closed the door behind you, a decision formed in your mind. You needed to see Remus. The corridor echoed with your hurried footsteps as you walked the familiar path to his classroom.

Upon reaching the door, you hesitated for a moment, considering whether to knock or just enter. Taking a deep breath, you gently knocked before pushing the door open.

"Remus?" you called, peering inside. The room was dimly lit, and you spotted him at his desk, grading papers. There was a small cup of half-drunken tea and an empty chocolate bar wrapper. The sight of him, surrounded by the soft glow of lamplight, had a comforting quality.

He looked up, a warm smile breaking across his face. "Ah, hello darling. Come in."

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. Remus set aside his quill, giving you his full attention. "How was your day?" he inquired, a genuine interest in his eyes.

You took a seat, launching into a recount of your classes, the interactions with students, and the magical mishaps that added a touch of humor to your day. Remus listened attentively, his expressions ranging from amusement to empathy.

The room was filled with a comfortable silence as Remus listened to your stories, a soft smile playing on his lips. After a particularly amusing anecdote, he chuckled.

"You've got quite the knack for teaching," Remus remarked, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and warmth. "The students seem to adore you. Though, I hardly blame them."

Your cheeks warmed with bashfulness at Remus's kind words. The genuine admiration in his eyes made your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but offer a shy smile.

"Thank you, Remus," you replied, your voice betraying a mixture of humility and gratitude. "I appreciate that. Coming from you, it means a lot."

Remus doesn't say anything. His gaze bores into you and you do everything you can to not squirm in your seat. Instead, he reaches out.

Remus's touch was a feather-light caress against your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that belied the depth of emotions within both of you. The room seemed to hum with an unspoken tension, a magnetic force drawing you closer. His eyes, those kind and knowing eyes, spoke volumes without uttering a single word. There was an intimacy in the silence, a shared language that transcended the need for verbal expression.

As his hand cupped your cheek, a subtle tremor ran through you. It was a gentle, hesitant touch, but the unspoken connection hung heavy in the air. Time seemed to stretch, and the world outside that small space ceased to exist. Remus's thumb traced a soft pattern against your skin, and you felt a powerful undercurrent of something unspoken, a dance of emotions waiting to be acknowledged.

Remus's breath caressed your ear as he whispered your name, the softness of his voice weaving through the air like a secret shared between just the two of you. Before either of you could savor the moment, a knock interrupted the quiet intimacy. Startled, you and Remus jumped apart, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between you.

Clearing his throat, Remus called out, "Come in," his tone more composed than the racing beat of your heart suggested. The door swung open to reveal Snape, his trademark sneer firmly in place. His eyes flicked between you and Remus, and you could almost taste the disdain in his gaze.

Snape, seemingly unsurprised to find you there, shot you a dirty look before addressing Remus. In his hands, he carried a cup, and the nature of its contents would have remained a mystery to you had you not figured out Remus' secret already. Still, you kept quiet.

Snape's entrance cast a sudden chill over the room, and the tension became palpable. Remus maintained his composure, but you could see the subtle clenching of his jaw, a silent response to Snape's presence.

"Evening, Snape," Remus greeted, his voice carrying an air of strained politeness.

Snape's eyes darted between you and Remus, and his sneer deepened as if he could taste the secrecy in the air. "I see I've interrupted an enlightening conversation."

You cleared your throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. "Not at all, Professor. I was just leaving."

Remus shot you an apologetic glance, but you offered him a reassuring smile before making your way to the door.

As you stepped into the hallway, Snape's voice trailed after you, carrying a subtle edge.

"Your monthly remedy, Lupin," Snape drawled, his words leaving a lingering bitterness in the air. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the challenges he faced every month. The atmosphere in the room shifted, and you were left with the weight of Remus' unspoken secret and the venomous presence of Snape, making for an uncomfortable tableau. "I trust you'll handle this matter discreetly."

Remus's response was curt but measured. "Always, Snape."

The door closed behind you, leaving you with a swirl of conflicting emotions. Remus's secret had drawn you to him even more, yet Snape's disdainful scrutiny hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

[catsandfeathers]

Some Cod Empire Headcanons

Clothes in the cod empire are often seen as bland and boring to outsiders but its generally full of symbolism.

While the mostly green, grey and brown fabrics appear to all look the same intricately woven or embroidered accents on the clothes made from red and blue fabric usually tell you a lot of the wearer.

From the embroidery and the kind of jewellery they wear you can tell who you're talking to and what their believes are.

Jewellery is worn often and proudly even if its made from "trash" as the other empires would say. Bits of Mezalean clay pots and seaglass are often found, edges washed away by the waters that got them into the swamp in the first place, amber and spun glass contrasting the unnatural colours of the glazed terracotta. Metals and the rare precious gems washed ashore or unearthed by the citizens tell of wealth. Bones of cattle are usually carved into intricate animal shaped beads while teeth of all kinds of fish accent and contrast the rounded appearance of most of the beads used. Generally, theyre worn as bracelets, necklaces or fastened to clothes with intricately designed pins made from all kinds of material (although metals are favoured due to longevity)

If someone is rich enough to import you can often find all kinds of dyed fabrics on their layered clothes along with an eccentric mix of fabric types not usually found in the Cod empires and their jewellery will often glint in purples and blues from pressed lapis or amethyst beads.

Their magic is generally as "trash" based as their fashion. Everything gets a second life in their spells, be it bones or trash they fished out of their waters. Favoured by the common folk are spell jars, filled up with water from a moon phase that fits their needs.

Prayer is generally sung to the ocean as they hold the belief that the water will carry their words to the gods.

For big events theres usually some salmon to be burned ritually, the fire is thought to cleanse them from their sin against codfolk which in turn bestows blessing on the codfolk for being so considerate (it is believed that this ritual was started as an excuse to burn large amount of salmon)

Along with handmade beads or jewellery the most common gift is amulets of varying kinds. Each 13 months they renew home blessings, usually inscribed on a clay plate and hung over the doors of their homes. Family and close friends get gifted amulets made from various metals, copper being the most common as it is a great conduit. The lines carved into these is usually filled with a lapis paste and then hung to dry over fire.

The lapis paste itself sometimes has different materials worked into it although usually this is mostly done by priests. Most commonly found are crushed up pearls for a fine shimmer or the finest shaved gold youll find on the continent which is meant to enhance spells regarding luck and health.

You can often find pretty and unique bottles of water in the homes of Codfolk as they collect water from the nearest body of water during an important event in ones life. Examples for this are a birth, marriage or death of a loved one.

These waters are sometimes stolen and used in curses. This practice isn't too uncommon but definitely frowned upon.

Their calendar looks weird to outsiders who are often used to a seasonal calendar of nations that grow crops. The Codfolk, along with other ocean based or ocean dwelling cultures, base their calendar on the lunar cycle. You'll often hear young Codfolk say they're already 120 Cycles old whereas older Codfolk learned how to use the other nations Calendars for ease of trade.

Due to their closeness to bodies to bodies of water the Cod Empire has taken a liking to Hammocks.

Often made from a rather rough linen lined with softer fabrics and coarse furs he preference came to life through their life by the water, or in many cases, on the water. The rocking of waves or houses during heavy sea made Codfolk appreciate a resetful sleep on a hammock. Beds are by now often seen as foreign or a luxury to those wealthy enough to travel farther inland permanently

[songsformonkeys]

All the things he missed (ezra x f!reader)

summary: Five times you meet Ezra. Five things he’s missed while he was gone.

word count: 2900

rating: explicit

warnings: none

notes: This story is for @yespolkadotkitty​ as thanks for all the beautiful beautiful banners she has made for me and my stories, this one included. She asked for Ezra smut and here we are *shrugs*

Ao3

All the things he missed

The first time Ezra sees you, it's like time slows down and his field of vision narrows down so that there is only you. At least that's how he tells the story. You later joke and question whether it was really you that had captured his attention or the pot roast you had been carrying at the time.

Because the first time you see Ezra, as he walks into the small restaurant near the flight hangars on Darwash where you work, he's as thin as a baby bird. He's just gotten home from an ill-managed gig where supplies ran out earlier than the transport home was scheduled to arrive. Luckily, he and his crew noticed before it was too late and managed to ration the food, allowing for all of them to come home alive, if a lot thinner than when they left.

Ezra buys the entire pot roast straight out of your arms that day and actually manages, much to your amazement, to eat the whole thing. He pays a ridiculous amount of money for it, and when you tell the chef, he doesn't believe you. Not until the two of you hide behind the door to the kitchen and watch how the thin man in the too-big suit devours the entire roast in one sitting.

Whatever drink Ezra wanted was on the house for him that day.

”Can I get you anything else?” you ask him and he smiles in a way that brings life back to his hollowed-out face.

”You've already proven yourself to be more of a blessing than I had expected, when finally clocking out from that shitstorm of a gig. I am content for the time being.” He leans back in his seat and rubs a hand over his belly.

”I sure have missed food like this!”

------------------------------------------------------

The second time you meet Ezra, you almost wouldn't have recognized him if it weren't for the suit and that blonde tuft of hair. He's gained a considerable amount of weight and now he looks healthy and less like he's on the brink of starvation.

He shows up on a slow day and takes a seat by the counter. When he smiles at you, you notice a dimple in his cheek.

”Well, ain't this a pleasant surprise. It's the gentle one from last time I was here. The lady with the roast.”

He orders food this time too, although a less ridiculous amount this time around. He chats happily with you both while he waits for his food and in between chewing, once the food arrives. Ezra talks a mile a minute, mixing the twang and dialect commonly associated with the working-class space travelers with long and overly complicated words that you don't always know the meaning of.

You enjoy listening to him, which only seems to spur him on when he notices. He tells you about places he's been and places he would love to go. He paints vivid pictures of the different planets and people he's met. You're grateful that there aren't any other guests in the restaurant because you don't want to stop listening to this charismatic man talk. You tell Ezra that you have spent your whole life on Darwash and that you wouldn't even know where to begin if you were to travel. He immediately rattles off five different suggestions, which you try to commit to memory before he begins his next tale. You can't help but be drawn in by this man.

He stays with you almost to the end of your shift, asking you questions and answering yours, before he checks his chronometer and realizes that he's late to pick up the keys to his temporary apartment. He pays for everything and, despite your protests, gives you a sizeable tip.

”It's not often I find myself with financial resources to spare. Allow me the pretense of acting like a wealthy man.”

You grudgingly agree and Ezra gives you a wink before he heads for the door. He stops and turns as he reaches it.

”Thank you! I've missed talks like these.”

  ------------------------------------------------------

The third time Ezra shows up, he's covered in...something. It's purple and slimy and looks like it will stain whatever he touches.

”No,” you say, as soon as he walks through the door, ignoring the way your heart skips at the sight of him. You quickly round the counter, ready to push him outside if you have to. The other guests closest to Ezra have already begun turning their heads and, as you come closer, you can tell why. The purple goo has a sickly sweet smell that feels like it clogs your nose and makes it feel like you're breathing syrup.

”Ezra, you can not come in here, wearing that!”

”But this is all I've got,” he says, looking a little crestfallen, but there's a twitch to the corner of his mouth that makes you suspect it's all an act. You wave your hands in front of you, motioning for him to step back outside, which he does.

”I am sorry. But I am not spending the whole night scrubbing...whatever this is off whatever you touch in there.”

”Oh gentle one, what happened to your soft demeanor while I was gone?” he says and yes, he is definitely teasing you.

”It wilted away in your absence,” you toss back and Ezra looks positively delighted.

”I'll have to make sure it's not so long until next time then.”

His eyes are big and brown and earnest and you feel your resolve crumble.

”If you want to eat, I can lend you a set of our staff clothes. The suit stays outside, though.”

Ezra agrees and follows you around back to the staff entrance. You make him wait outside while you fetch him some clean clothes. When you come back, he's already halfway out of his suit. He pulls his undershirt over his head and uses it to wipe some goo from his hair. You're struck dumb by the sudden display of his bare back and only manages to clear your throat to get his attention. He turns, and you walk over to hand him the clothes. His hand brushes yours as he accepts them from you, and you feel like one of the maidens from the old romance novels you have at home because your cheeks burn from just that small touch.

Ezra notices and, of course, can't help but comment.

”What lovely color. To bring a flush to those cheeks is challenge I wouldn't mind having a second go at.”

You hear Ezra chuckle when you flee into the restaurant again.

When he shows up inside a couple of minutes later, he's dialed back the flirting slightly, and takes a seat at the counter. He picks some invisible lint off the shirt.

”Thank you, gentle one! These are comfortable. I have missed wearing clothes like these.”

  ------------------------------------------------------

The fourth time Ezra shows up, it's late in the evening right before your shift ends. He just orders a drink and later, once his glass is empty, he offers to walk you home. You both know what he's really offering and you decide to take him up on that offer. He kisses you outside your front door. It's soft and sweet, and you can tell that he's holding back. You nip at his lower lip and the sound he makes at the back of his throat goes straight to your gut.

You invite him in and Ezra barely let's you close and lock the door behind you before his hands are on you, pulling you close.

That night you find out just how skilled that mouth is at other things besides talking. He falls asleep in your arms afterwards. You stay awake for as long as you can, reveling in the feeling of his stubbled face against your shoulder and his arm across your waist.

The next morning you wake up to find Ezra already awake and watching you. He tells you that he has to leave again this afternoon for another gig. Logically you knew that you wouldn't get to keep Ezra in your bed forever, but there's still a foolish part of you that's disappointed.

”It's just one gig, gentle one,” Ezra says, having noticed the expression on your face, ”Pays quite the fortune too. I'll be back before you have time to miss me. And when I return, I should like to treat you to a proper date. Take you somewhere real fine.”

He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear and you lean into the touch.

”Thank you for tonight, gentle one. I have missed sleeping next to someone this way.”

------------------------------------------------------  

Ezra promises to be back before spring ends, but Ezra doesn't show up. More and more time passes, spring turns to summer, which in turn turns to fall, and still there's no sign of Ezra. You begin to feel foolish, to question what it was you two had shared. It had been stupid to fall for a man you hardly knew, a prospector at that. Of course Ezra wouldn't be back. He probably has a girl like you in every port. The disappointment tastes bitter on your tongue.

But despite the realization that your encounter had probably meant more to you than it had to Ezra, you can't stop thinking about him, and there is still that tiny part of your brain that still hopes...

Which was why, when you open your door almost a year later, and find Ezra standing outside, you don't slam it in his face.

Ezra isn't wearing his suit but a knitted gray sweater and a pair of beige pants that both look new and expensive. One of the sleeves is pinned up, making it clear that Ezra's right arm is no more. His face looks worn and tired.

”I apologize for being late, gentle one,” he says and you can't stop yourself from stepping out in the cold to wrap your arms around his neck. You feel the tension melt away from his shoulders and when you press your lips to his, he makes a relieved sigh.

”Oh I am a blessed man,” he mumbles against your lips and you pull back as he continues speaking. ”I thought myself a fool to think that you would wait for me, but I told myself: I have to try. Gentle one, I truly am sorry!”

”It's okay,” you assure him, as if your last year hasn't been filled with longing and doubt about this man that's currently in your arms. ”Would you like to come inside?”

”I would like that very much.”

You take his hand and lead him inside and up the stairs. Ezra continues rattling off excuses mixed with compliments on your appearance. He has a debate with himself about the pattern of your blue dress and precisely what it's supposed to be.

You silence him with your mouth when you reach the bedroom.

Ezra won't let you undress him, and you suspect that he wants to show you that he can still do it himself. Once he's pulled his shirt off, he catches you looking at what remains of his right arm with a worried look.

”That is quite a story,” he says, ”And I should like to do it justice so I beg that we can save it for later. Right now there are more pressing matters and every fiber of my being longs to touch you and I implore that you have mercy and don't make me wait any longer.”

You would roll your eyes at his dramatics, if it weren't for the fact that the same longing that he describes claws in your own chest. You rid yourselves of the rest of your clothes in a matter of seconds. Ezra lays you out on the bed, naked, and takes a few moments just to observe. His gaze is heavy enough that it feels like a physical touch when he runs it across your body. You squeeze your thighs together and when his fingers finally caress your collarbone, you almost arch off the bed just in anticipation of what comes next.

Ezra's hand trails lower pausing to cup one of your breasts and feel the weight of it in his hand, running the pad of his thumb over your nipple a few times, before continuing down across your stomach.

Ezra is touching you like he's committing every inch of you to memory. Out loud, he compares various parts of your body to things he's seen on his travels, and the wonder in his voice makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and keep him there forever. To him, your body is a collection of hills, valleys and planes, gemstones and monuments. Every part of you is likened to a different place or kind of terrain and when he runs his fingers over the hairs between your legs and murmurs: ”So soft. Like...” you cut him off by leveling him with a warning glare.

”Careful how you finish that sentence, Ezra,” you say and he laughs before leaning down to kiss you. As his mouth covers yours, his finger slips between your folds and you moan against his lips.

He dips his finger inside, just enough to gather some of your slick on his finger, before he pulls it out to gently massage your clit. You have done this to yourself hundreds of times but the sensation of his fingers is entirely different.

He apologizes for his lack of finesse and inexperienced left hand but the only response you can give him is a moan and a whimper. You suppose that contradicts his claimed lack of finesse just fine.

”Look at you,” he whispers and there's that tone of wonder again. He continues to shower you with praise as his fingers and voice bring you closer and closer to an orgasm. You grip his thigh hard enough that you're sure you're leaving marks and your thighs shake as he speeds up his movements. You don't stand a chance and you cry out his name as pleasure washes over you.

Ezra continues to move his fingers through your orgasm and as you sink back against the mattress like a boneless mess, he leans down to kiss your forehead. You tilt your head up instead and capture his mouth in a sloppy kiss that only half hits its mark.

Your lower body is still tingling when you reach for the contraceptives in the drawer of your nightstand. As you lean over, Ezra slots himself against your back and kisses your shoulder and your neck. His hand is still between your legs, gently cupping you.

You take out one of the small soft squares and move Ezra's hand out of the way so you can carefully push the small square inside yourself. Still sensitive from Ezra's touch, the action makes you moan softly. You let it absorb for a moment as Ezra strokes your thigh and tells you how beautiful you are.

When he pulls your hand out, he holds it up to his mouth to suck your fingers clean. As those sinful lips close around your index finger, he lifts your leg and shifts his hips closer. You reach down and help guide him inside. He moans in your ear and the sound vibrates all the way through your body and is almost enough to make you come a second time.

”I feel I must warn you,” Ezra whispers a little tensely, as if he's holding back another moan, ”In surroundings as exquisite as these, I fear I won't last long.”

”I don't care,” you assure him and that's all the reassurance Ezra needs before he starts to move.

He sets a slow pace fucking you, like he's relishing in each slow thrust. He keeps a running commentary of the way you feel around him. Lost in your own pleasure, you hear maybe half of it.

His hand alternate between gently holding your hips in place as he thrusts into you and running up your torso to caress your chest and neck. When he's not talking, and sometimes while he's talking, he places kisses along your shoulder and up the side of your neck and face. Your spine feels taught as a bowstring as he repeatedly hits a spot inside you that sends sparks of pleasure through your body.

True to his warning, Ezra doesn't last very long. His voice gets more and more breathless the closer he gets to his orgasm, but he doesn't stop talking. It's only in the moment that he finally comes that he falls silent, pressing his mouth against the nape of your neck and letting out a soft whimper. You hold his hand tightly through his orgasm.

Later, he is lying with his head on your chest and your fingers play with the blonde lock of hair at his temple. He's in the middle of telling you about this final gig on the green moon, when he suddenly stops and looks up at you. You smile and raise your eyebrow slightly in a silent question.

”Gentle one...before I continue, I have to tell you something.”

”And what's that?”

”I really really missed you.”

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty​ @agirllovespasta​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @larakasser​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @beccaplaying​ @ohpedromypedro​ @knittingqueen13​ @pedropascallion​ @scarlettvonsass​ @softskywalkcr​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @holographic-carmen​ @mrschiltoncat​ ( I have tagged people who’ve asked to be on the taglist and people who I think might like this based on previous reblogs and comments. If you want to be added or released from the taglist, just let me know)

[averagesmw]

Penny Haywood x MC- Experience (4/4)

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this special! See you soon!

Game: Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery

____________________

There was always something about a village that helped it stand out from a landscape and earn a smile from one, even if one had never been there before

Maybe it was the way the houses looked, stuck in time without showing signs of decay

Or perhaps it was the way the people behaved, so polite and welcoming that even a stranger could feel as if they had lived amongst them for years

Regardless of what it was, there was no denying that the atmosphere was unmatched. Such was the ambiance of the village that Penny and Y/N were visiting as requested by her mother

Unfortunately, Beatrice fell ill due to the food they ate last night. Nothing too severe, but a few ingredients would help to make a potion for her

Penny took the opportunity to give the curse-breaker a tour around the place, with her holding their hand the entire time...not that they minded, of course

The village's colors were different in the afternoon, with oranges, purples, and pinks bouncing off the buildings to set a serene tone

"And here we are. This is the place where we get most of our ingredients. The quality is amazing!"

They stopped at a small, wooden store. It looked a bit old, but certainly stood the test of time

When they stopped, an old woman came out and smiled

"Good morning, Penny. It's always a pleasure to see you around here"

"Likewise, Madam Clarke!" She answered, ever so cheerful

Then, the woman's attention turned to you, with an intrigued look to her

"And who this might be?"

"Y/N L/N, I go to the same school as Penny. A pleasure to meet you"

They greeted the woman with a hint of formality, they didn't know how Penny's relationship with these people was, after all

"Is that so? You two seem to be getting along quite nicely" She chuckled to herself after saying that

That's when They remembered, neither of them let go of the other's hand

Being too embarrassed to say anything, Penny just let go

"Anyhow, what can I get you?"

"The things in this list, please"

Penny handed her a paper with the ingredients written in it. Fortunately, the woman didn't see her blushing while doing so

Without further due, Madam Clarke left to get the objects, leaving the two teenagers to chat for a bit

"...So, how are you finding this village so far, Y/N?"

They turned to see Penny smiling once again, almost as if she was using them as an escape from that embarrassing moment seconds ago

"It's amazing, it reminds me of the first time I saw Hogsmeade"

The blonde found herself nodding at this

"I know, right? This place is just so charming. That's why we come here every chance we get"

"It does wonders to help the mood. No wonder you always return so happy for the next year"

This earned a laugh from Penny, who just shook her head

"Well, it's also because I get to see you, Y/N. That is always something to look forward to"

Y/N smiled fondly at this. Truth to be told, there were many reasons to either look forward to or dread the return to Hogwarts every year

The obvious reason to fear would've been the curses going around every single year, until this one, that is

However, one reason to look forward to it was to spend time with friendly faces once again, even appreciate them a bit more after being on their own for a while

"There you go. This should be everything" Madam Clarke made her way back to the counter

She handed Penny a bag and she saw the content to check if everything was in order and upon confirming it, she handed her a couple of coins

"Thank you, Madam Clarke!"

She turned around and motioned Y/N to come with her. Upon exiting that business, however, the blonde noticed something, she even stopped walking because of it

"Penny? Is everything alright?" Out of instinct, Y/N had their wand at the ready

"Absolutely, I just noticed how different the center of the village looks. It's so festive!"

Y/N let out a sigh of relief when they heard this, then proceeding to look into the reason for this

"Perhaps they are preparing something?"

"Could be..." She pondered before looking at a person walking nearby

"Excuse me, what are the decorations for?"

"We've decided on preparing a small outdoors celebration this year! To keep the spirit as jolly as it can" The man announced proudly, but this answer also sparked curiosity in Penny's eyes

"An outdoors celebration? You mean with dancing too?"

"You bet! Make sure you bring your sweetheart. It's going to be brilliant"

With that, the man left to attend his own business. While Y/N was glaring at him for calling them that, Penny was already tending to thousands of ideas in her mind

Before Y/N could ask about it, she turned around and grabbed both of their hands, sporting a bright smile as well

"This is wonderful! What better to show you how magical this place is than with a festival!"

They didn't even have time to say anything due to Penny hugging them tightly. It was commonly known that Penny Haywood adored these types of events

But there was something about this one that just felt so different. It only made sense, this was the first time that Y/N had seen a Muggle community like this one

"Come on, we have to tell my mum about this!"

And so, the young Haywood practically dragged them back to the small house, where she delivered the big news to her family

"A festival, you say? That would explain why the village looked so different this time"

Mr. Haywood stated while picking up the ingredients Penny had brought them and put them on the counter for his wife

"I'm afraid we can't, we have to tend to Bea until she recovers"

Her statement saw itself defied by the voice of the patient herself. Beatrice looked as if she had a cold, yet she was in her pajamas standing in the middle of the hall

... honestly, not her best look

"I... told...you I'm... fine"

"What are you doing out of bed? You'll catch a cold like that!"

Her dad rushed in and gently took her back to her room, making her mum sigh in annoyance

But that's when she got an idea just by looking at the two teenagers standing in the living room

Penny looked so eager to go to this event, while Y/N seemed to be quite distraught by Beatrice's problem

They had already done their part by bringing supplies, and playing nurse wasn't a way to spend the holidays, was it?

"I have an idea, why don't you two go to the festival for us? You earned it"

The moment she heard this, the stars in her daughter's blue eyes began to shine once again with excitement, making her chuckle at this

"Really?"

"Consider it my Christmas gift to you two"

She winked at the couple. Penny ran towards her for a hug, one that she eas quick to return

"Thank you so much!"

It was cute to see the blonde get so excited for this, but when recalling events like the Celestial Ball or the festival at Hogwarts, it was difficult for the heart not to start racing as well

This is when Y/N realized something. They've had fun dancing before with Penny and the rest of the school

But this time, it was a festival just for the two of them. No distractions or obstacles, or even multiple crushes to balance out

Just fun with a single person, Penny

"Do you have something to wear for the dance, Y/N?"

Her sweet voice made them snap out of their thoughts and when remembering the question, the student gave her a confident smirk

"Absolutely, I have just the outfit for this. Just leave it to me"

...

Two hours later

"I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR, I AM DOOMED"

Y/N walked through the room back and forth, their clothes all scattered around, a faithful reflection of their mind currently

The curse-breaker had packed their things when they left Hogwarts, but none of the clothes they brought would help them look good enough for this dance! They'd stand out like a stain on a white sheet

They had spent hours upon hours trying to find something decent for this event, not just regular clothes switched up to look like something new

It's not that they would know that they'd need a special outfit, but they couldn't afford to go and buy one. There was no time left

Not good, not good

"Think, what would Andre do?"

They stopped to look at the room before facepalming

"Probably yell at me for having my clothes like this"

Groaning in defeat, Y/N sat back on the bed

"This was going so well..."

However, as their frustration threatened to take over, they managed to see something in their suitcase, something that wasn't there before

"What the...?"

Y/N directed their attention to this and brought the suitcase closer to them and what they saw caught them off-guard by sure

It was another set of clothes, perfectly folded so that they weren't perceivable unless every other piece of clothing was taken out before

Y/N recognized this as one of the outfits Andre had styled for them. But how? It wasn't there when they put their clothes in the suitcase before

That's when they spotted a small note attached to the outfit

"You might need it. Good luck!"

- Tulip &, Chiara

"Pd. You ought to tell me all about your trip when you get back,!"

-Alanza <3

Y/N didn't know if they should laugh at this or question how did the girls manage to sneak in this outfit without them noticing. Regardless, they were beyond grateful for their friends at this moment

Without wasting another second, they grabbed the outfit and tried it on. It looked elegant enough to notice that it wasn't just a make-shift outfit, but not too extravagant either

They couldn't recall the last time they had worn those clothes, but it didn't matter now, for it was perfect!. They made a note to themselves to thank the girls when they saw them again

Minutes after making the final adjustments to the outfit, there was a knock on the door

"Y/N? Are you ready?"

Penny's voice could be heard from the other side. But this time, the teenager had an answer to it

"Absolutely, I'm coming out"

Without further due, they left their room with a confident smirk, sure to look their best for the night

But when they stopped to look at the blonde in front of them, Y/N was left speechless

A yellow tiered ruffle skirt hugged her waist and part of her legs, contrasting with a cute black top that highlighted her two necklaces, and to top it all off, a french braid resting on her side. As if she wasn't breathtaking enough, her smile was what sent Y/N over the edge

However, they weren't the only ones in awe of what they were seeing, for Penny too was beyond impressed by the way their partner looked tonight. Even if they were amazed by the other, they couldn't bring themselves to look at each other in the eye without ending up like a tomato

"P-Penny! You look brilliant"

Y/N was the first one to break the ice, earning a smile from her

"You too, Y/N, I...wow"

She tried her best to remain her friendly self but found herself staring even against her own

"Awww look at you two! Let me take a picture!"

Penny's mum rushed off to get her camera, leaving the two teenagers on their own. However, watching the woman's reaction helped the teens to ground themselves a bit in reality and thus, laughing  at what had just happened

Of course, they still thought about how good the other looked, but they could at least get a hold of themselves now and look at one another without exploding with emotions immediately as a child would

And so, after getting their photograph taken, Penny and Y/N left the building, now greeted by the nocturnal sky and a breeze of cold air. In the distance, the lights of the village could be seen waiting or them, their colors so warm and festive

"I can't believe it, a festival just for us!"

Then, she looked at Y/N with her usual smile

"This is going to be incredible"

Just as Penny regained her excitement, so did Y/N's confidence returned and showed so by extending a hand to their partner for the evening

"Then let's check this festival together, shall we?"

At first, the blonde was caught off-guard by this gesture, like a knight in shining armor coming for her, requesting for her hand, hers

Words couldn't describe how lucky she felt to be the one looking at this, but that was okay, her actions would suffice. With a proud smirk, she reached out for their hand as well

"Yes, let's"

...

As soon as they stepped into the village, they were blown away by what they were seeing. The decorations made the place feel even more alive than it was before and as the moonlight shined upon it, the festive lights highlighted this atmosphere

Smiles could be seen everywhere they looked. From the elderly to the children, everyone seemed to be having a great time

"A gift for the young couple"

A woman approached them with flower bracelets for both, placing them gently on their hands

They accepted the gift but were certainly surprised by it too. Mainly to be called a couple, but to be fair, there was no point in arguing against it now

"It's...comfy!" Penny stated while adjusting hers

"How does it look on me?"

She turned to take a good look at the new accessory in Y/N's head and she giggled

"It looks adorable"

Without further due, the duo continued to explore the festival. It had amazing  food, fun games the likes of which Y/N had never seen before, and even a place to take pictures with someone

Being that last part what caught their eye the most. It wasn't often that they were able to take pictures together, after all

They took a couple of photos. If there was any doubt as to whether Y/N smiled at all that year or not, one would only need to look at those items

With the same jolly attitude, they kept exploring what the festival had to offer, and that's when they reached the center of the village

The people were gathering around a wooden stage, where an old man was giving an announcement

"Friends, I know you're all as anxious about the dance as I am, so I will keep this short"

They stepped back into the stage, motioning to it

"The dance will welcome all who want to participate, but only one couple will be crowned tonight! And your cheers will help us decide who that is!"

The people cheered as some of them walked onto the stage with their couple, eager to dance

When this happened, Penny's blue orbs sparkled with excitement as she looked back at Y/N

"Can we participate? Can we?"

They couldn't help but chuckle at her kid-like eagerness but found themselves nodding too

After fending off a dragon, Acromantulas, and even Dark Wizards, Y/N L/N had grown much more confident, so dancing in a festival with Penny didn't seem to be a challenge too big

However, this one was a far more likable challenge than those others

"Of course we can. Let's show them!"

The young lady guided them to the stage, where they found a spot to dance right in the middle of it all

"Alright everyone, let's begin!"

The musicians started playing their entrancing melody, inviting everyone who heard it to dance. The violins and even the piano gave it a distinct sound

(Think of something like this if you want)

                          Y/N's right hand made its way to Penny's waist as hers fell on their shoulder and their left hands intertwined shortly after and their eyes, fixed in one another's

The music slowly picked its pace and the couple began to move together, first left, then right and left one more time, starting slowly and with a gentle tone

When the time came, Y/N raised their hand and allowed Penny to twirl, swiftly stepping back so that she and her partner were in front of each other, still dancing

The people clapped in unison as they started to tap the floor following the rhythm of the music, dancing and jumping in place without losing sight of the floor either

The way they moved was akin to the music of another time, yet with the same life and energy

Soon, laughter and smiles would come from both of the teenagers as they lost themselves to this cheerful music and even clapped with the crowds before switching partners

Never before had Y/N felt so free. No responsibilities or problems, nothing was wrong with the world, nothing needed fixing

It was just them, the music and Penny

And that was all they needed

This intoxicating happiness quickly took over them, and regardless of how long it would last, they would cherish every second of it

And so they danced, jumped around in place, and even formed circles with the other dancers until eventually, they made their way back to Penny herself

Once again, they intertwined their hands as they began to move in synchrony, twirling and dancing in circles without letting go

The violins helped their moves, guiding every step of theirs until suddenly... They were inches away from each other, they could feel the other's breath and all they could see was the other's face as they regained their breath, but most importantly, they smiled at each other

They genuinely smiled

Penny pushed their bodies closer to each other, the curse-breaker took the hint, held the blonde's waist, and spun them around, much to her surprise

Both laughed at this until Y/N was holding Penny's back, keeping her from falling as she cupped their cheek in return, and finally, they sealed the moment with a long-awaited kiss

Y/N found themselves closing their eyes to shut the world out the moment their lips met hers

The soft taste of her honeyed lips was far sweeter than any treat the curse-breaker ever got, and the wait only made them better

As they slowly separated their lips, they could only stare at each other in disbelief of what just happened

"Penny..." Was all they could mutter and yet, that was enough for her heart to melt

But then, the clapping and cheering from the crowds surrounding them reminded the couple that they were still in the middle of a festival, and by the looks of it, they had put quite a show

Everyone was looking at them with a huge smile as if they somehow knew the importance of the moment they had witnessed

Even the other couples were applauding them at this point

"It seems that we have our winners!"

The man walked towards them and placed a beautiful crown of flowers on the blonde's head, and then another on Y/N's

They were now standing in front of the crowd, too shocked to know how to respond on their own, but that was the thing, they were not alone

One way or another, they both knew this and acting out of pure instinct, their hands reached out for the other's until they inevitably succeeded

This sudden contact made them look at one another, surprised by this connection at first, but it soon turned into a smile

Not the kind of smile one would do when being told good news

Nor the kind of smile to make when seeing someone after a long time

But a smile of the purest kind

That of love itself

[star-wars-scribbles-ff]

Where I Belong | Chapter 5

Story Summary: The only family she’d ever known gave her a name; back when she belonged to something. But when that family is lost, she leaves it all behind. When destiny drops her in the last place she ever wanted to be, she has to earn back the trust and respect of the Republic that left her to die. Caught between the Jedi and the Grand Army of the Republic, she’ll discover where she belongs.

Fandom: Star Wars | Galaxy Far Far Away

Rating: T+

Story Genre/Warnings: action/adventure/found family | war violence, death, torture, discrimination, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, found family, lots of clone boys, (spans the whole clone war) eventual Order 66 and rise of the Empire

Words: 3,205

Disclaimer: Majority of properties within this fanfic are owned by Lucasfilm/Disney. My OCs, as well as a few other things within this fanfic are of my own creation. Republic Cog header/chapter divider made by me 😊

Taglist: @divergent-llamas-03 @thisistheendtimes @tallyquark @your-very-rude-neighborhood-ace @remadster @808tsuika

CHAPTER NOTE: Planned on making this a May 4th chapter update but time got away, not really proof read, I remembered I’m pretty much writing this for myself, and this chapter is kind of short so... sorry me I guess lololol. 

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Anakin Skywalker considered her in silence. Do I look dead, sir? Was that a jab? Just a statement- a question? Her aura was giving him nothing; it was calm, collected, but under the surface bubbling with a scrambled mix of emotions that he couldn’t decipher. Not just anyone could mask that from a Jedi. It made him uneasy. 

“... What’s your CT number?” He asked, posture straightening as he crossed his arms.

The look she turned on him was almost amused as she looked him up and down for a moment, brow knit before she raised an eyebrow.

“My CT number? What- do I look like a clone to you?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Anakin quickly found his voice turning almost impatient. It wasn’t intentional, but perhaps a defense against this situation which he wasn’t the slightest prepared for. He’d buried this. Having it drop back in on him like this wasn’t something he wanted to welcome with open arms.

He narrowed his eyes at her lack of reaction as she continued to eye him before her gaze fell to the table. Her ease and calm nature regarding her situation pushed a button he didn’t know he had, and it irritated him. The only thing that brought him solace was that despite her seemingly tranquil exterior, he could sense she was harboring a restlessness. One he was having trouble deciphering, but all the same it was there. 

Considering her posture, he noted her body language gave away very little. Somewhat defensive, but not overwhelmingly so; her arms were rested in her lap, shoulders slightly caved inward, but still relaxed. She looked like a mercenary by her attire. The chest and torso plates she was wearing had notes of old republic craftsmanship; it wasn’t a commonly worn style anymore. Her shoulder plates also had unique craftsmanship, but he didn’t recognize them. 

A few dried splatters of blood covered her left shoulder plate, where her head injury was making itself known. She’d need medical attention; something he wasn’t looking forward to as she’d need to be transferred to the medical facility onsite. He needed very little to tell him she was dangerous. She lacked a boastful ego, and that only increased the likelihood that she possessed a deadly skill set. Moving someone like that around should be avoided at all costs, but a head injury was cause for concern. Thankfully, that was something to consider later on. For now, he had to worry strictly about interrogation of the individual. 

Part of him was uncertain of how to proceed. She would be on the GAR database, it was just a matter of whether he’d be able to access the material. Surely he’d be able to. He vaguely remembered seeing her file, but he didn’t remember enough details.

“What was the nature of your assignment on Garo IV.” He questioned. Only way forward was to strike the connections they had present. While the mission wasn’t related, it was the only string he could pull. Waiting for an answer was how he had spent eighty percent of his time during interrogations. Maybe pulling this string would get her talking a bit more.

When she met his eyes, he raised an eyebrow as she put off giving him a verbal response. He really didn’t have the patience for interrogations. Obi-Wan knew that and would usually have him conduct them because of said fact. 

“What unit were you with?” He tried, adjusting his crossed arms over his chest as he stood at the opposite side of the table from where she was seated. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose details regarding my assignments nor my former position with the Republic Military.” The monotone of her voice surprised him as she leaned back in the chair and met his gaze once more. “Sir.” The tone of her voice was laced with sarcasm, unamused sarcasm but it was becoming more obvious she was going to make this harder for him.

He found himself giving the smallest hint of a smirk. Two could play the game.

“Well then, make yourself comfortable. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He noted before stepping forward to lean one hand on the table, the other coming to rest on his belt. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about before you’re inevitably arrested for treason against the Republic.”

Rex had watched the footage multiple times now, and it pulled him in opposite directions. This should be an easy case, but every time he came to that conclusion, something knocked him upside the head screaming that it wasn’t. Cody seemed to be in a similar position.

He glanced at his brother, noting the gears seemingly turning in his expression as he lowered his gaze from the footage they were reviewing.

“What're you thinking?”

Any other Commander, and Rex would’ve addressed them properly; but this was Cody. He’d known Cody all his life. He was more than just a superior officer, he was a brother - his brother - and they rarely ever used formal addresses around each other. He knew Cody felt the same way towards him. 

“This won’t be cut and dry.” His expression stoic, the Marshal Commander finally let his eyes fall from the footage before he turned and took  a few steps to the adjacent table where the sack of explosives resided. 

“Facial recognition picked up the other one.” Rex informed his brother before letting out a quiet sigh as he turned his gaze towards the hall leading to the interrogation room. “Your average mid ranking merc in the underworld. This one on the other hand...” Rex gestured to the holoscreen on the computer station against the wall. The footage played over and over again; the image of the mercenary they had in custody knocking Cody out of the line of fire did little to lesson Rex’s caution. “Still no hits. I don’t like it.”

“Do you think it was an act?” Cody questioned, turning to meet the eyes of his comrade.

“What part exactly?” Rex leaned back against the table, partially seated on the edge. 

The shift in the Commander’s eyeline back towards the footage answered Rex’s question as he looked to the holoscreen as well. The footage looped over and over, and Rex took a few moments to analyze the moment when the merc pushed his brother out of the line of fire.

“W- Do you think it was sincere?” Rex tried to suppress his chuckle but it slipped out. It wasn’t something he had considered. He’d honestly been avoiding thinking about her motive to push Cody out of the way. It seemed that’s all Cody was thinking about however. 

“She said ‘sorry sir’... to me.” Cody responded.

“Sir?” Rex emphasized while raising an eyebrow. “Alright I admit that’s- odd. But what’s your point, Cody. She still infiltrated this base with a sack full of explosives. I think the intent is clear.”

“Gentlemen,” The announcement of the Jedi’s presence caused Rex and Cody to briefly stand at attention.

“General Kenobi,” Cody greeted his superior with a courteous nod of his head and Rex gave a similar gesture as Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the blast doors.

“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Cody.” Obi-Wan dipped his head towards Cody as the Jedi came to a stop in front of the two troopers. “I did receive your transmission. Have there been any developments on our intruders?”

“Yes sir,” Cody responded, taking a couple steps closer to the holoscreen at the computer station, giving it a small gesture with his hand. “We’ve got a hit on one of them, I was going to get your confirmation on a warrant. The other however isn’t coming up on civilian or criminal databases.”

“Neither?” Kenobi questioned, taking a step closer to watch the footage quietly.

“No sir,” Cody gave Obi-Wan the response as he went to open the satchel on the far table, Rex loosely at his side. “Both had one of these. This belongs to the one we have in custody.”

“Skywalker is doing the interrogation?” Obi-Wan inquired, eyes on the footage. His brow knit gently and one brow twitched up with curiosity as he watched the footage of the criminal they had in custody.

“He is, sir.”

Silence followed closely behind Cody’s words as the two Officers waiting for the Jedi’s next move. Rex glanced briefly at his brother, hands loosely at his sides, but a subtle tension remained in his posture. This was a new problem, one they hadn’t encountered before. 

General Skywalker was being oddly distant with this mercenary in custody. Usually an Officer would accompany on interrogations, however the General had made it clear that he wanted to handle this one alone following some sort of revelation. Whatever it was, Rex knew it complicated matters to some extent.

“If you’ll excuse me, Commander, Captain,” General Kenobi turned to the Clone Officers. “I will have a word with Skywalker.”

“Let us know if you need anything, sir.” Cody was quick to respond and Rex backed up his brother’s words with a nod. 

Once the General excused himself, Rex took a couple of steps closer to the Commander and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why wouldn’t she come up on any database?” Rex mumbled the question privately to Cody. “It doesn’t make sense. Not even facial recognition picked anything up prior to the last few months. She’s a ghost.” Rex shook his head in subtle disbelief, brow knit tightly. 

His arms already crossed, Cody reached up with a hand to lightly touch his chin as he thought quietly. 

“I was hired to hit this location. I don’t know who, I didn’t get a name, but I suspect it came from a long chain of people most likely working for the Separatists.” The mercenary explained. 

“Do you mercenaries normally just take jobs and ask questions later?” Anakin inquired, causing the girl’s eyes to narrow. 

“It was a closed door job; information was kept private until they pulled people in for the job. If I hadn’t taken it they would’ve shot me then and there.” She muttered the explanation, defensive frustration subtly laced through her voice. 

“Considering the way to shoved that Officer out of harm's way - I take it you prefer to hurt from a distance. Not too soft to do the dirty work up close are you?” He pushed further, much to his contempt as she visibly clenched her jaw and hardened her glaring gaze at him. 

“Anakin, might I remind you of the reliability of using more friendly tactics during interrogation?” 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin carefully greets his old Master as the Jedi enters the cell. 

“Might I have a moment with you outside,” Kenobi gestured briefly towards the cell door. 

Anakin grumbled before reluctantly leaving alongside the Jedi Master. This was not a good look for an interrogator. 

Once on the other side of the cell’s energy shield door, Obi-Wan and Anakin made their way down a few cells to get some space from everyone. 

“Now, what is this all about?” Obi-Wan inquired, crossing his arms across his chest. “I left the base for one day and-”

“This isn’t just some mercenary, Master.” Anakin cut to the chase rather quickly but begrudgingly hesitated for a moment. “I can’t believe I am saying this- but she was one of us.”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan’s brow was knit tightly, a clear expression of confusion marked his face before Anakin went to explain.

“This happened a few months ago; shortly after I became a knight. The battle group I was with near Sundari. Master Krell was dealing with forces on the planet surface when I picked up a distress signal from a Clone Team on Garo IV. They asked for extraction; said they had vital information. I’m not sure exactly what kind but…” Anakin trailed off as he remembered the day. 

Kenobi eyed his former padawan for a time before giving a small nod of reluctant understanding.

“And where does this mercenary come into play?” He inquired, gesturing forward with a hand.

Anakin met his Master’s eyes for a time before looking away once more. 

“She was the one that sent the distress signal, Master.”

Once the Jedi left the cell, Arwen let herself slump back into her chair. Jaw relaxing she muttered under her breath before briefly closing her eyes, squeezing them shut for good measure to briefly combat the pain of her head injury. 

This isn’t good. I have to get out of here before this spirals. 

If she tried to escape, it would make things worse long term. The situation couldn’t get much worse from here, at least not in regards to her relationship with the Republic. The worst thing that could happen to her is imprisonment. Right now her reputation was what she was most concerned with. 

Corcer relaxed her brow, trying to soften the pressure that had been building in her head before she took in an audible breath and slowly let it out. 

Of all the Jedi that could be dealing with this… It just had to be the one that one. 

He could either make matters better or worse. She’d have to suck it up regardless.

At the mere thought of it, Arwen clenched her jaw, unable to hide the snarl of an expression that threatened to appear. 

Jedi. There were few she thought below them. A twisted organization. Sure they had a few good ones here and there, but they were the biggest problem with the Republic. She’d rather shoot herself now and get it over with than roll over and play dead in this interrogation but… She had somewhere to be and had things to do. 

As long as this di’kut doesn’t try to mention the team, I’ll be fine. 

Silencing her thoughts, Arwen looked to the cell door and waited for someone to reappear. Her intent gaze only increased as she tried to silence the thoughts at the back of her mind. Seconds turn to minutes before she finally feels her shoulders begin to relax and her eyes fall.

…. The team…. My team.

Her chest tightened as she caught herself subconsciously distancing herself from the painful memories of her old life. 

You can’t do that. No matter how much it hurts. If you don’t remember them, no one will.  

Obi-Wan processed this information quietly for a time before finally meeting the eyes of his former padawan. 

“And you’re certain this is her?”

“I’m positive, Master. She already confirmed it to me; reluctantly I might add.” Anakin responded.

The two make their way back down the hall and pass the mercenary’s interrogation cell before turning down the hall towards where Commander Cody and Captain Rex resided.

“We can continue her interrogation later. For the time being, we need to continue our prevailing investigation.” 

Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes but let out a grumbled huff before rubbing the back of his head as they entered the open room. 

“Master-”

“You and I both know that intel may be critical, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reminded the younger Jedi with a somewhat stern tone. “If the Separatists get ahold of it-”

“We’ll have problems. I know, I know.” Anakin put his hands up before letting them fall. “Pirate scum.” Skywalker muttered under his breath, shooting a brief look around the room towards where Cody and Rex resided cataloging another sack of items from the mercenary. “They’re all talk, this info could just be putting us on a wild bantha chase.”

“And if it’s sincere?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and waited for his former padawan to concede in his weak reluctance to pay the investigation the attention it needed. 

Anakin didn’t hide the roll of his eyes before giving a nod. “Understood, Master.”

The Jedi didn’t come back. Something Arwen wasn’t necessarily against. However as she was escorted down the hall by a Clone squad, she found herself almost disappointed she wasn’t able to speak with the Jedi. 

It was becoming clear to her that she needed to talk with them to make any progress, but her anger- maybe even mild hatred towards them- kicked at her to not wish to be stuck in such a situation.

“Destination?” Arwen chanced speaking up, and was surprised when she got a response.

“Jail cell for temporary holding until interrogation continues.” The Clone a few paces in front of her on her right responded, not sparing her a glance as he continued to walk down the corridor. 

Arwen looked to the ground and nodded to the side.

Better than silence I suppose. That means they still plan on talking to me. Good.

The quiet sound of conversation perked her ears and as they continued walking, it grew louder, and the voices grew clearer. 

One of them was the Jedi she’d spoken to - Anakin as the other Jedi had called him. And the other one was Obi-Wan. The names were familiar unfortunately, and now she had faces to put to the names. Practically celebrities as far as the Republic was concerned. Forget the Holovid stars, Jedi Knights were it since the war had started. 

Arwen’s gaze found an open room coming up on the left and she looked inside to find the two Jedi on opposite ends of a holotable looking hologram of an individual she actually recognized.

The fact made her stop, much to the surprise of the two clones behind her as one of them ran right into her with a grunt of surprise. 

“Sir,” She called out to the Jedi, either one of them. 

They both looked over, each with a look of mild confusion before Arwen went to continue talking.

“Is that Jiro Tuck?” She inquired, her eyes briefly dwelled on the hologram before turning to the bearded Jedi.

“You know of this individual?” He was the one she hadn’t seen much of, Obi-Wan as the dark haired Jedi, Anakin, had called him.

“Yes sir,” Arwen responded, glancing to the clone escort which she could tell was getting agitated. “If you’re looking for either him or his brother- I might have a few leads. I’ve been hired to find him before.”

The butt of a blaster was suddenly knocked into her back and Arwen caught her footing gracefully before looking over her shoulder at the helmeted trooper.

“Keep moving,” He snapped before ushering her forward with his rifle.

Arwen looked towards the Jedi once more before complying with the Clone escort, continuing down the hall. 

They took her down to the holding cells and placed her in an empty cell. From the look it was vacant; she was the only one there.

Once the cell door closed, the troopers walked away and Arwen found herself sitting down on the metal platform that acted as a cot. 

Ok. Seed planted. You better be able to deliver on that.

She had done work with the pirate before. Whatever he was involved in though would probably only bring her more heat from either the Separatists or the Republic, neither of which she wanted.

Either way… She needed to find a way out. This looked like her only option. If she played her cards right, she might be able to get out of this. 

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter | Arwen Corcer Mercenary Visuals Art | Arwen Corcer  - Past Lives Art

Chapter Note: If anyone is reading this I hope you enjoy I suppose. Again- wasn’t proof read so.... sorry for the grammar errors. Might fix it... Might not. Probably won’t. 

[ghostiewriter]

meet james maybank | character inspection

This is an insight into James Maybank, a character commonly used within my outer bank fanfictions. He’s portrayed as JJ and Kiara’s firstborn and eldest son. This is just to give you an idea on what he’s like rather than having to explain in each one-shot he shows up in!

James Maybank is the eldest child and first son to JJ and Kiara, in the little second generation I’ve created. The couple had him when they were twenty-three years old, he was admittedly unplanned. Most of their early 20s were spent travelling and the pregnancy with James did change their plans a little, but they loved him relentless. In fact, it gave JJ an excuse to finally convince Kie to go to a bunch of different theme parks since they had a kid and it was “basically a law” for them to do so. Yet, despite the fact he was an accident, it didn’t make him any less loved. It was nerve-wracking, he was the first venture into parenthood that the couple had ever had but James was also just the perfect little mix of his parents (whether that made the situation better or worse is debatable).

The name James was chosen by JJ, a little nod of respect to his mother (something that will be explained further in a certain one shot). He was the perfect little summer baby, born on 31st July, smack middle of summer. Despite being born at peak summer time, James isn’t the surfer boy you’d expect him to be. He loved the beach, don’t get me wrong. He enjoyed all the memories he had growing up, learning how to surf and building sandcastles with his little siblings but much to JJ’s disappointment, James wasn’t much of a surfing fan.

But where JJ’s love for the ocean lacked in his eldest son, his skill and interest in mechanics did not. Ever since he was a young child, James had the oddest fascinations with cars. Maybe it started from JJ taking him to work on the few days Kie would be on the mainland for her own work or maybe it was because he grew up watching old episodes of Top Gear, but James Maybank became a motorhead. The second he was old enough, he would be at his father’s side, oil and grease on his hands as he learnt everything he could. It started as a hyper-fixation and ended up being a passion. And just like his mother, James has a bit of a ‘do it yourself’ attitude. He is stubborn as hell, so when he was young and his grandparents (mostly Anna Carrera) was openly against his fascination and passion to be a mechanic, well you can guess how much it fuelled him to pursue this career further.

Like mentioned above, he is a healthy mix of his parents but maybe the combination is more dangerous. Whilst he has the wit and quick-thinking of his mother, the boy has the schemer ways and knack for trouble just like his father has. Again, a dangerous combination. James is a charmer, he has a way with words that just traps people in and make them want to be around him. He is a natural extrovert, a social butterfly if you will. You can throw him in a room with anybody and he would come out of it with new friends, it’s just the way James is. Even as a child, he just seemed to hold a charm over people that could not be explained.

Though, sometimes it can be mistake for arrogance and this is where the trouble slips in. James is a very self-aware person. He knows that he is a good-looking guy, he is quite intelligent and a bit of a natural flirt. But by god does it make his ego unbearable at times. Kiara claims this is something he gets from his father, but James seems to have an issue in letting his mouth run sometimes and it gets him into trouble with others. He is a friendly, flirty guy—you can imagine how many times he might have accidentally spoken to the wrong person and how many times he has realised his charming words won’t get him out of a fight with a very pissed off significant other (James seems to have a habit of flirting with people that are already taken, again not on purpose but more just because he can’t help it). His ego is definitely one of his fatal flaws that will come to bite him in the ass later on.

Despite this, James is one of the most loyal people you can ever have in your life. As a brother, as a friend, as a son. This boy is just the epitome of blind loyalty. Once you are in his life, you are under the protection of James Maybank, I don’t make the rules. The people he cares about mean the world to him, and though he may have a lot of friends, his inner circle is smaller than you would think. These are the people he can let loose around, not worry about reputation or appearance. He can be his usual loveable but goofy self. James thrives on making people smile and laugh, especially those in his inner circle. So although he may be an egotistical bastard at times, he can be quite the sweetheart too.

There are a lot of relationships to go through so I’ll focus on the main ones in James’s life. The main one being his relationship with his parents. Much to Kiara’s dismay, James is a daddy’s boy. Since he could crawl, he would always be at his father’s side. It was nerve-wracking for JJ considering his fears of fatherhood and walking into the unknown, but he was the best dad you could ever think of. James has a very healthy relationship with his parents, a very open one too. He has grown up in an environment that he knows is a safe place and wouldn’t be judged so there was very little he had to hide from his parents. Plus the fact they were a part of an illegal heist when they were his age does help him get away with quite a lot of stuff. James was a bit of a tester though, considering he was the first child and his parents were only 23 when they had him, but it did mean that everyone was learning together. With his short temper (courtesy of his father), James can get quite heated in argument very quickly which was a pain during his early teen years, but after reaching that eventual maturity, his relationship with his parents was a breeze.

His relationship with each of his siblings is quite different. He probably gets on the easiest with Gabriel, purely because his younger brother is a fairly chilled guy and avoids conflict as much as he can. Gabriel tends to be the first person James would go to whenever he needs to rant or get advise (his younger brother is oddly wise) and he tries to be the same.

Whereas, James’s relationship with the other twin is much more complicated. James and Zack are similar in many ways and that tends to be the problem. Both hot-headed and stubborn, they tend to clash and bicker the most. Deep down, James knows he would do anything for his brother but that doesn’t take away from the fact his youngest brother can be a right pain in his ass at some points.

Now James is an overprotective bastard, this can be seen by anyone. But his overbearing ass is definitely the strongest when it comes to his little sister Elliot. He promptly chooses to ignore the fact she could kick everyone’s ass and plays the part of ‘protective big brother’ as a badge of honour. She learnt quite quickly to just let him play his part, and though it can be irritating at some points, it means he cares so Elliot doesn’t mind too much. James just sees all his younger siblings as his responsibility to keep as happy and protected as he can. He loves his siblings, he would do anything for them just as they would for him.

The second generation of pogues are a big bunch and whilst James is friendly with most of them (maybe going as far as considering them to be his siblings too) his best friend is most definitely Charlotte Routledge. Being the first kids in the group, it was hard for James to not be around Charlie most of his life. She was born a couple of months after he was and a lot of their childhood photos are proof that the two of them were rarely seen without each other. Charlie is like a sister to him, someone he would trust with his life. She probably knows him better than she knows herself, and vice versa. One would very rarely be seen without the other growing up, and they became quite the troublesome duo. However, Charlie is also one of the few people that isn’t afraid to put James in his place. He can be cocky and arrogant and she is happy to knock him down a few notches. She is the slap of reality in his life (something James quite often needs) and after so many years of friendship, she soon learnt to help him avoid trouble by scheming with him rather than trying to stop him. Charlie Routledge is one of the most important people in his life, just like her father was to his own.

Now, the last important relationship I should tell you about is with Clover Martelle. Depending on who you ask, the view of their relationship can be very different. For Clover, James is nothing but an arrogant asshole who always gets what he wants. To James, Clover is the best thing to ever walk this earth. It’s a long story for these two, a long history that goes back all the way to their first day of school together. You could jokingly say that James is his father’s son, falling for a stubborn girl who happily put him in his place and resisted the charming smile he gave everyone else. But that is just what James loves about her. She is beautiful, but James fell for so much more than that. She was strong and kind and stood up for what she believed in. Little James Maybank has been whipped since he was 5 years old. Their story and Clover’s eventual realisation that his feelings are requited is one that will eventually be explored.

Physically, James is healthy and fit. Except for the fact he had to be kept in hospital for an extra few days after he was born. But in every other aspect, he is generally quite normal and well. The only thing that he does need aid for is his eyesight. Since he was around 4 years old, James has always worn glasses. He wears glasses because he has a “lazy eye” (medically known as amblyopia) which just means one eye is weaker than the other. In James’s case, it is his left eye. Glasses were a bit of a menace for him as a child, he hated it and usually did his best to avoid wearing them. But by the age of 8, he had grown up a bit and accepted his glasses and he has never really had an issue with them since. Growing up with his parents being Potterheads, James distinguishably has worn round glasses like the main protagonist since he had first watched the movies. It helped a lot with his confidence to wear them.

Mentally, James’s health is also quite good. Like mentioned earlier, growing up in an open environment where you were aware that you could talk to your parents and not be judged really did help. He has always been open with his feelings and thoughts, always been given healthy solutions to deal with his issues. The fact that his parents respect his privacy and space and give James the time he needs to open up is also a big help. Like his father, he can sometimes get lost in his own head and use other things to distract him but he will eventually talk to someone about what is bothering him—whether that be his parents, his siblings or his friends. He knows he will always have someone there for him.

JJ and Kiara had no plans to settle down anytime soon. They were young and adventurous and had the whole world at their feet. It was no surprise to anyone that the second they graduated, they hopped on a plane and visited all the places they only dreamed of going. They would go back and forth between a new place and returning home for a few weeks to visit the other pogues, and have a few dinners with the Carreras to keep Anna happy. It just so happened that during one of their trips back to the island, there was a massive rager at the Boneyard for Halloween. Seeing no harm in this, the couple went and had the time of their lives. Little did they know that one little night would change their lives.

James wasn’t planned or necessarily expected at least for a couple of years. Unlike John B and Sarah who had a wedding pretty soon after they graduated, JJ and Kiara saw no rush in doing so. They had all the time in the world. However, a wrench was thrown into their plans when that positive pregnancy test showed up in their lives. Despite the fear and uncertainty the couple shared on the path of parenthood, they decided to keep the baby and venture forward with this unexpected path. It became one of the best decisions in their lives.

James was the sweetest young boy, a healthy mix of his parents both in attitude and in appearance. He was energetic and bubbly and charming. He loved people and loved making new friends. He was also the catalyst to the large family the young couple would have.

James knows of his parents’ background, where the two of them came from and how they got to the place they are now. In classic JJ fashion, of course his son follows through in the teasing and mocking of the other kooks. To keep Anna happy, they would attend the odd party here or there at the country club and James would do everything in his power to seem like the most charming man and simultaneously the kook parents worst nightmare. James is protective of his family, and knowing how they treated his father, he doesn’t plan on giving them the time of day to get under his skin.

Being the eldest, he also feels as though he holds a responsibility over his siblings to be a role model. Unfortunately, his big mouth can get him into a lot of trouble and usually it’s one of his siblings that will be helping him out of trouble. He’s a prankster, he can’t help it. He always has something up his sleeve, and this just so happens to be the exact thing that gets him on Clover’s bad list the first time they meet.

His relationship—or lack thereof—with Clover Martelle began when young James Maybank decided it would be hilarious to put gum on one of the chairs in the classroom. That chair just so happened to belong to Clover who did not find it very funny and in retaliation humiliated him in front of the class by doing the same back to him. It was the day James Maybank became absolutely whipped for her.

She was the person all the kook bastards thought they were entitled to tell him to stay away from. Even Clover herself made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be near James but that didn’t stop him. And eventually, years of pining and being like a love-sick puppy would finally blossom into a beautiful relationship between the two—but not without its hardships and bumps in the road (but you’ll just have to stay tuned to see how their story plays out!).

Being the oldest means that James is also the first to go through everything, including school. He knew pretty early on that he wanted to be a mechanic, his love for cars and motorcycles and boats proved this passion this further. In fact, by the age of 16, he had managed to build his own motorbike along with the help of his father and it’s his most prized possession and greatest accomplishment to this day.

James is a fairly laid back guy, he doesn’t like to plan too much into the future or dwindle on what is going to happen. He is definitely more of a “go with the flow” type of guy and that perfectly describes his outlook on life. Though his arrogance may be his fatal flaw, it also fuels the confidence that makes James who is and it’s a part of him you will grow to love.

[clay--boy]

What're your thoughts on crowns and other ornate doodads from the different tribes? Like, the cultures are clearly very different so the way they decorate themselves would be different as well, no? Asking as an artist with the nasty habit of drawing crowns/jewellery/ect. the same all the time. Sidenote, the different breeds of dragons in WoF are referred to as tribes, right?? It's been a bit since I've read the books and don't wanna sound like some kinda idiot

ok first thing’s first please excuse my absolute shit sketches medibang is being a little bitch so i’ll have to paint you a word picture (also dw they’re tribes)

so for mudwing i imagine there’s lots of thick plain gold bands on necks and horns, and probably some sturdy gold rings in various places (i think mudwings probably have the most piercings of all the tribes) i don’t think they would wear a lot of precious gems but when they do probably rubies/topaz/other warm colored gems and quartz. the crown i think is probably pointy and kinda plain, has some gemstones in it bc it’s the crown but it’s not anything particularly fancy or impressive, and the queen definitely only wears it to like, intertribal stuff

skywings i think have the most extravagant crown. the crown itself is elegant in its simplicity but there are fine golden chains with beads of amber on the bottom (obviously this is only for like sitting around or negotiating and not like, battle). it also has matching golden horn bands with rubies embedded in them and more amber on chains. i think skywing queens probably have a long history of gems embedded in their scales, and a lot of them also get their horns/spines tipped with gold. they don’t have a lot of piercings bc they just have gems straight in their scales, what’s the point of an earring or whatever

nightwings tend to not deck themselves out and wear tasteful silver and LOTS of moonstone. like just a shitton of moonstone and lots of opal as well (icewings also wore opal but after their feud both stopped wearing it out of principal). most really high class nightwings will wear necklaces made of precious metal bands or chains, and more middle class nightwings who wanna look fancy will wear a moonstone set in metal and held on leather straps. the crown is pretty simple and has a big, you guessed it, moonstone. it’s more practical than some other tribes’ (skywings and sandwings) so the queen wears it a lot more often. nightwings also wear lots of rings.

so rainwings don’t really have jewelry and all that. the rainwing crown is just a worn little wood thing, and its bands don’t go all the way around and instead clasp so that it can be fit around different dragons’ horns. rainwing queens will wear necklaces of flowers and will also often have drops of gold and/or purple in their scales over whatever other colors they’re wearing. 

the seawing crown is made of a piece of coral covered in gold that an animus magicked at some point to fit the wearer’s horns perfectly. seawing queens are as excessive as skywings but more classy about it. they wear lots of opal, pearls, sapphire, rose quartz, and turquoise. lots and lots of turquoise. they also wear coral. they usually have extravagant horn bands and a lot of times will pierce their fins as well. they also have big earrings that probably hurt to swim in but like it’s a far cry from getting rocks embedded in your skin so

could i have just extended the crown to be in front of the sail? yes. would it have been as kickass? no. sandwing queens take super good care of their sails and most of them are very long. sandwings are second in piercings only to the mudwings and the most tattooed of all the tribes. sandwings also commonly have tongue piercings. queens will get a seven pointed sun tattooed to signify keeping the peace between tribes. (this one’s my own personal hc that has no bearing on anything else but they also get the sand cat tattooed bc she’s like a symbol of leadership and strength). they also wear mostly gold bands rather than more delicate necklaces, but the only jewelry that’s a staple in every situation is beaded or cloth materials, since jewelry can tarnish in the sun. lots of royalty will wear fine silk scarves. 

icewings value purity and minimalism and tend to think the other tribes’ jewelry is gaudy. they wear mostly silver, sapphire, and diamonds. their necklaces tend to be very fine silver chains, their earrings are those small little diamond ones, and they often get diamonds embedded in their skin, especially their face. they also probably wear a lot of subtle makeup (do dragons have makeup?) the crown is an ancient heirloom made of silver. it, like the seawing crown, is enchanted to fit the wearer. a sapphire is set in the front. the coils prevent queens from wearing other horn bands, but other royal icewings will wear delicate silver horn bands with blue gems set in them. 

[lilflowerpot]

Sorry to be a bother, but do you have a post on the different Galran religions? Thank you in advance.

Oh honey, you’re so polite, but you could never be a bother (particularly with a gem of a question such as this); I’ve written bits and pieces on the Druidic Church, but nothing dedicated to them or any other Galra religion, so this is an excellent excuse to do just that!

Various belief systems evolved on Daibazaal, but just as with languages, there are far fewer Galra religions (~1,000) than human ones (~4,200) because, unlike Earth, Daibazaal was a very arid planet and therefore not divided up by seas and oceans, meaning that faith was more easily shared and intermingled, creating hybrid religions practiced by hundreds of different tribes, rather than each evolving separately. Seeing as I couldn’t possibly detail every single one, allow me to illustrate the most prevalent religion that originated from each phenotype:

KYX: Drui of the Druae Faith

CREATION MYTH: The most commonly practiced Galra religion, the Druae faith (which later merged with D’iijac to become the Druidic Church) first emerged when Daibazaal was still young and divided. It is the belief of the Drui that the universe was born by the Divine Mother whose name is Sa - she who is both architect and devourer, everything and nothing, the beginning and end to all things - and that She exists beyond time as the Celestial Womb from which all life was given, and all life will return once dust so that the universe may be born anew, greater and more powerful than before. As such, she is Mother to all life in the universe, but just as we once consumed the quintessence of the previous universe, so too will our quintessence be consumed by the children she is yet to bear.

DEITIES: It is believed that the closer this universe draws to its demise, the stronger Her unborn children grow inside the Celestial Womb as they feed off the quintessence of the dead. Several millennia after the Beginning, the strongest among them - Rhya’ahl & L’lameih, the Divine Twins - found themselves able to slip into the mortal plane. Seeing how weak the mortals were, Rhya’ahl divided himself into a thousand pieces, and crafted for each fragment a ferocious form that would come to be known as the sacred beasts which roamed Daibazaal’s vast desert plains without need of physical sustenance: the Rhyahl. As Sa incarnate these creatures eternally hungered for quintessence, devouring the living and hastening the end of all things so that Rhya’ahl and his siblings may sooner inherit what was owed to them. Witnessing this and recognising that, though weak, the Galra too were her Mother’s children and should not suffer an unnatural end, L’lameih instead thought to work with the people of Daibazaal, and so divided herself into a thousand pieces to counterbalance those of her brother, with these fragments being welcomed into willing Galra vassals and enabling them to wield the untempered essence of the universe, thus creating the first of the Drui (Sa Naacht).

RELIGIOUS WEAR & BELIEFS: Traditionally, both Drui and Deacons of the faith (followers of the Church who are without Druidic blood) cloak themselves in sweeping hooded robes to obscure their physical forms, as one’sphysical appearance is deemed inconsequential to Sa and so should be to all of her children. Though the Drui once wore the skulls of deceased Rhyahl to honour their progenitor’s twin, after Alfor destroyed Daibazaal and all the Rhyahl along with it, they took to fashioning masks in the same style. With less than 100 surviving skulls in the whole of the Empire, all are considered holy relics and able only to be worn by the Archivist and High Priests / Priestesses for ceremonial purposes.

PRACTICES & FESTIVALS: Immediately preceding Daibazaal’s Winter Solstice was the festival of D’raen: two full movements (ten quintants) of feasting and revelry to mark the end of one solar cycle and the beginning of the next, in a celebration of light, life, and prosperity, all in honour of L’lameih. The first day traditionally opened with the lighting of the bonfire (that must burn throughout the full duration of the festival to ward off Rhya’ahl’s wrath while celebrating his sister’s generosity) and a tournament, wherein competitors fought to first blood against one another in melee combat until only one remained standing and could be crowned Vrokra (Champion), earning themselves theseat of honour between the tribe’s High Priest / Priestess and reigning Vroksali (Warlord) for the rest of the festivities. The next eight quintants took the form of a bacchanal for all, with copious amounts of sweet-wine, rich foods, dance, music, and other entertainment; the Vrokra was pampered throughout and given everything they could possibly desire, until, on the final quintant (the Solstice itself), they were bathed in a ceremony of purification, and ritually sacrificed at dusk to the Rhyahl in the hope that the tribe’s most valiant warrior would sate Rhya’ahl’s appetite for another decaphoeb. Everyone would then buckle down to weather the longest night of the solar cycle with their loved ones, and if the sun rose the next morning the festival was deemed a success and the bonfire could be extinguished. In modern times, iterations of this tournament take place all over the universe, but only that held in the Imperial Palace grounds on Feyiv and hosted by the Archivist and the Emperor / Empress continues the tradition of Galra sacrifice (the Galra have been one united tribe since Emperor Brodar, and the Rhyahl extinct since the Sa Tskept, so it would not do to lose a hundred of the Empire’s best warriors for nothing more than tradition), and therefore those wishing to earn themselves this honour swarm there in droves every cycle.

BYAL: Diij of the D’iijac Faith

CREATION MYTH: This faith shares the greatest number of similarities with Druae (and later merged with it to become the Druidic Church), likely due to both Byal and Kyx being nomadic desert people who regularly crossed paths throughout history, allowing for their beliefs and traditions to be easily shared. While the Diij also think of Sa as the Divine Mother to All That Ever Was and Will Be, they believe that our universe is simply one of a thousand Tsaii (gods) that emerged from the Celestial Womb at the Beginning; each Tsai fractured into all life that exists in the universe they became - every star, creature, and grain of sand - and each yearns to become whole once more so that they may devour their siblings and absorb their quintessence, thereby earning the right to return to Sa and sire the next litter of Divines.

DEITIES: D’iijac scripture dictates that the first Tsaii to emerge from the Celestial Womb were the Divine Twins: Rhya’ahl & L’lameih. L’lameih thrived outside her Mother and divided her Divine self liberally among her creations until her universe was full of light, life, and quintessence; Rhya’ahl, however, desired only for he and his sister to once again be as inseparable as they were in Sa, and so crafted himself into a perfect mirror of her, but this universe was one without a drop of quintessence sacrificed in its making, and so became a putrid shadow of L’lameih’s creation. Despite this, these realities were so closely built to one another that they became irrevocably entwined, so much so that the reflections in one served as windows into the other, allowing Rhya’ahl to watch his sister’s favourite children, the Galra, bask in her adoration while he himself existed as nothing more than a poor imitation of everything she loved. Stricken with jealousy, Rhya’ahl flew into a rage and in doing so spilled his Divine blood onto the dead sands of his shadow-world, from which rose the Rhyahl, born of his wrath and insatiable desire for his sister’s attention, and it is like this that Rhya’ahl’s children came to roam the deserts of Daibazaal, sent to hunt all those who hold L’lameih’s favour.

RELIGIOUS WEAR & BELIEFS: Though Diij Priests / Priestesses took to wearing the skulls of Rhyahl as masks in the same way that the Drui did, unlike the Drui this was not done to honour Rhya’ahl but rather hide from him; it was thought that by disguising themselves as the hunters, L’lameih’s worshipers might avoid becoming the hunted, and it is for this same reason that they wore long robes to obscure their bodies and conceal themselves from Rhya’ahl’s sight. To assist her children in hiding from her brother so as not to suffer at his hands, L’lameih sacrificed the last of her divine self to grant the most devout of them the ability to wield quintessence as she and her Mother before her could, and so the Sa Naacht came to be.

PRACTICES & FESTIVALS: As the Byal are a thickly furred people, they primarily traversed the vast desert sands at night, and so were exceptionally talented astronomers who tracked Daibazaal’s lunar cycles, and navigated by way of the stars. The star Nyd shone a brilliant emerald throughout the decaphoeb, and was believed to be the eye of L’lameih, through which she watches over all of creation; for one movement every decaphoeb, however, Nyd would align with the golden star Uryan, the eye of Sa herself, and it was believed that when this occurred the dead might rise again to devour the quintessence of the living and return themselves to life. In an effort to protect themselves from this, the Diij would disguise themselves in the pelts of ferocious beasts and dance all throughout these five nights around a great bonfire, telling stories of the dead through shadow puppetry in the hopes that to remember them would appease their spirits. It was said that to speak an unkind word of a dead soul, or to fall asleep before the sunrise each morning (or not wake before sunset each evening), would invite disaster upon yourself and those you hold dearest. After Daibazaal’s destruction, this festival of souls was still held on Feyiv during the autumnal equinox, but as this planet is in an entirely different part of the galaxy the stars no longer align as they once did (though both Nyd and Uryan are still visible in the night sky).

DOX: Eyikh of the Eiyyka’an Faith

CREATION MYTH: Before there existed planets or stars or even time itself, there was a great celestial beast - Eyii, the last of their kind - who swam through the void of space as if it were an endless ocean, and left in their wake ripples that became waves which, in turn, become crested in a foam of stardust and scattered out across the universe. Eyii must swim on for eternity, else the ones who hunt them, the Tsaii (a divine race of celestials), will catch and kill and mount them as the ultimate trophy.

DEITIES: Sa itself is a bygone universe, conquered by the Tsaii and now dead, and their hunger for new worlds must be regularly appeased by blood sacrifice so as to deter them from continuing their pursuit of Eyii and ending all life as we know it. All the Tsaii are considered vengeful deities of war and conquest (though to differing degrees) and many of those known by name are said to represent the different aspects of war: Khaiis, Tsai of glorious victory; Xann, Tsai of unchecked bloodlust; Hiidyl, Tsai of orphaned children; and Vael, Tsai of lost souls.

RELIGIOUS WEAR & BELIEFS: As the Dox lived in the humid climate of the southern jungles, their clothes were typically light and fine, and traditional religious dress was no exception; head-coverings would be of a sheer fabric that was more draped over the individual than wrapped around them, the ends of which were woven with beads to both provide weight to the garment, and signify the wearer’s position in the Eiyyka’an Church through material, colour, and the symbols engraved upon them. This apparent decadence later lead to the misguided assumption that the Eyikh (and the Dox as a people) were somehow corrupt in their self-indulgence, but the true root of their belief is that they should revel in all the beauty Eyii left in their wake, as to do otherwise would be to dishonour them. It is also worth noting that the Dox were the only people who culturally favoured burials for their dead over cremation, as Eiyyka’an scriptures dictated that just as the jungle provided for their people in life, they should in exchange provide for it in death.

PRACTICES & FESTIVALS: In the third phoeb of Daibazaal’s cycle, the dense jungles of the planet’s southern hemisphere would experience a powerful monsoon season, necessary for life to thrive throughout the coming decaphoeb. To facilitate this, the Eyikh would host a fertility festival in the spring wherein the Divine Hunt was performed, in the belief that a successful display would summon the bountiful rains in the movements to come (though a failed one would risk drought, by making a mockery of the Tsaii). At sunrise, everyone in the tribe would be obligated to draw a pebble dictating whether they would represent the role of hunter (30%), hunted (10%), or merely a spectator (60%); throughout the day, those participating in the Hunt would be painted with dyes - luminescent greens and blues to mark the Tsaii, and rich reds and purples to help disguise those portraying Eyii - in intricate patterns that would temporarily stain the skin. At sundown, the Hunt would begin, with the hunted having to flee from the hunters and avoid capture until the sun rose again: the greater the number of participants who avoid capture, the more bountiful the coming decaphoeb is expected to be.

AALK: Jaev of the Jaevaji Faith

CREATION MYTH: Sa was once the only being in existence, and she in herself was the Void: absolute nothingness. In her loneliness, she shed tears of light which became stars, and planets, and people, but just as the flood of tears she wept eventually ceased to be, so too would all life created from them; when the first of her children died, so distraught was she by this turn of events that Sa swallowed them whole so that she may never be parted from them. The universe continued this way for millennia until a Galra named Puiyn of the Aalk, who had himself been born deep in the bowels of Daibazaal’s mountainous caverns and forged in the liquid fires found there, died in battle; so strong and honourable was Puiyn, that his quintessence escaped Sa’s clutches and returned to the mortal world to be reborn, again and again, until he had lived a thousand glorious lives and died a thousand glorious deaths to become the first of the Tsaii - an immortal child of Sa able to remain by her side for all eternity and therefore need not fear her desperate hunger.

DEITIES: Puiyn was the first, but there came others: noble Galra warriors who have been reincarnated for centuries on end before finally ascending to stand with Sa, until there was an entire pantheon of renown warriors, each representing a different aspect of life and being honoured (even prayed to) for whatever their particular associations were. Emperor Brodar was thought to have ascended (as the Tsai of progress and innovation), and Emperor Zarkon too is believed to have been granted the status of Tsai upon his death, which is why he was able to return from the great beyond to guide the Galra to greatness, as he has now lived and reigned for longer than any other Galra could.

RELIGIOUS WEAR & BELIEFS: Daibazaal’s mountainous regions didn’t allow for easy access to a wide array of materials, but traditionally the Aalk used a liquid clay-like substance to tattoo themselves with all manner of religious symbols and scripture, with both the content and the placement on the body being culturally significant: tattoos on the head/neck indicate wisdom, the torso a courageous spirit, the arms power in combat, the legs agility and quick-wittedness. Each tattoo must be earned through the rite of a trial specific to whatever said tattoo would signify (perhaps a young Galra’s first hunt, or an act of conquest, or a display of particular nobility of spirit).

PRACTICES & FESTIVALS: The Jaev’s major celebration took place on the summer solstice as a celebration of life and an appeasement of the Tsai who serve and protect the living with their blessings in all aspects of life: on the longest quintent, when the sun reached its highest point, a chosen sacrifice would be lead up to the alter atop the highest mountain peak (where they might be closest to the Tsaii) and ritually sacrificed by fire. To be this sacrifice was a great honour, one that many people would fight for each decaphoeb, as it was believed that this would guarantee you eternal life at Sa’s side without need of a thousand reincarnations.

[kara-jayne-art]

Blue Suits You Well

Written for Rarepair week, day 6: Secret Crush!  Thanks for the eyes, @exaigon! @dbhrarepairs

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New Jericho isn’t near as dark and damp as it used to be on the old, abandoned ship.  Their facility is clean, decorated, it even holds some pretty nifty tech for an “office”.  Its back rooms have also been a home for many lost deviants unsure of what to do now that they’d opened their eyes and torn away from their programmed instructions.  For the most part, there’s absolutely nothing intimidating about a single inch of this place in it’s not-so-industrial appeal.  Even the color of the walls, a commonly bland shade of eggshell white, offers a little more professional appeal than the rigid ship did.

Presumably, there’s really no element of intimidation here anymore.  Except for when Connor walks in.  A few deviants regularly peer to the side when he steps inside, avoiding all eye contact with the ex-deviant hunter before promptly disappearing without a word, and if they do speak, they spill out gaudy excuses.  North wonders what their experiences with him must have been like.  According to the stories, he was quite feared during the revolution when everyone began to recognize his stature as the hunter.

And yet… he’s nothing like that past image they paint with their rumors today.  He pays mind to his business alone, leaves when he’s finished, doesn’t bother anyone.  From what she can tell, deviancy has quite possibly taken a lot of his scare factor away.  And if it really has, why are they all still so frightened?  Whoever he was before waking up still has them shook.  She really wants to know now, has to know….

So North watches him from across the room every day, devising ways to approach him without being awkward.  Not gawking.  Not even stalking.  Just observing…   Sure, Connor’s smiled now and then, but it’s always so… polite, too polite, as if it’s just for mannerism.  If anything, she thinks he just blends in more, especially with his worn brown leather jacket and blue jeans keeping any intimidation at bay.

Today’s likely to hold the same quiet nature, so North lounges carelessly on a chair, wondering why time feels like it’s going so much slower than usual.  That’s probably the boredom setting in.  She sighs in defeat at the silence that today has to offer yet again, almost ready to dip out until something more exciting comes along.  Before she can set the idea in motion, Markus appears around a corner and walks up to her with a look of question in his eyes.    

“North, have you seen Connor?  He’s usually in by now, and I can’t get in touch with him.”

A glance at the round clock on the wall tells her it's later than she thought and… ohhhh my, has Mr. Perfect (though she uses the word more out of satire than anything else) actually missed his A+ attendance streak??  This is so purely ironic, such a small, amusing mark of imperfection!  Connor isn’t always at the top of his game after all.  His deviancy actually has some imperfection!

With a shrug, North answers , “Nah, not a clue where he is.”  Does it really matter?  His days of flawlessness are tainted and he’s going to have to show for it at some point!  This is the kind of excitement she wants.  Trouble, defiance…

Markus doesn’t sound so concerned, though.  “If you see him, let me know, okay?”

North grunts to herself as he brushes it off like dust in the wind.  “Yeah, will do…” If Markus won’t bust Connor’s chops, SHE will!  It’ll hopefully rouse some amusing reaction.

Ten minutes later, the doors open and in comes their belated detective…

Wait. Wait, wait!  That’s definitely not his usual get-up.  He’s wearing something much more form fitting, and it’s shade of blue reminds her of...  When he strides a little closer to her, she instantly recognizes it. It’s something she’s always run from before...

...A police uniform…

It dawns on her that this is something she’s never considered.  Connor’s actually an official, formal member of the DPD?  He’s never spoken about becoming official, only that he cooperated with them during his assignments and continued investigations afterwards.  But what’s even more eye catching is that his attire defines his shape in such a complimentary manner with its smaller cut and it’s delicious.

As he turns to send her one of his typical courteous smiles, there’s something else unexpected about him today, too: a small gash on his face, given away by the blue smear of thirium brushed across his cheek.  North suddenly wants to nurse his wound, caress the slice on the handsomeness that dawns on her mind in a most uninviting way.  Curiosity is starting to morph into admiration and she hates it.

But he pays no attention to his wound like the strong-willed officer he stands out as now and instead pitches a hall-pass story she can’t ignore.  “Sorry, I’d ran out of time to change.  A chase held me up longer than I thought it would,” Connor says, filling North with more intrigue than she’d intended.  “Luckily, I managed to catch him on the nick of time.”

There’s something about this look, this Connor that she likes.  No…. no, NO, NO!  She refuses to admit she’s a uniform person.  She just can’t be, but damn, there’s something about seeing Connor in his police attire that her eyes just won’t tear away from.  

North tries to look at something else.  The lamp?  The pictures on the wall?  The television with it’s depressing news?  But fuck, the image won’t go away!  It lingers in her imagination, watching made-up scenes of his hot pursuit, danger lingering in the air as he arrests his target.  It gives her a sense of adventure she’s missed, makes her wish she was there by his side when he ran after them.  What a ruse that would have been!

The sound of his voice pauses her imagination.  “North, are you okay?  You’re turning blue.  Perhaps you need to see someone?”

Oh she already is right now… and it’s burning her cheeks.

The black and gold woven patch on his left shoulder and the black shoulder guards pressed firmly onto his shirt screams a sense of authority, domination he’s never extrovertly expressed under Jericho’s roof.  She wonders how many assailants he’s had to detain with the cuffs hanging off the clip fastened to his belt.  The sight of the gun hanging opposite of it tempts an urge North has been holding in for too long.  Maybe he’d even consider a day out at the shooting range with the gun hanging on the other side.

What’s worse is the longer she stares at him, the warmer her cheeks continue to get, and for some reason she can’t peel her eyes away.  North really needs to get him out of here fast before her entire face goes royal.  She can’t will herself to shoo him off, so she turns to one of the things Connor knows best: duty.  “I’m- I’m fine.  Actually, Markus was looking for you.”

“Ah.  I’ll go find him,” Connor responds with a short nod, giving her another one of those now-surprisingly-adorable smiles.  He turns to walk off, and North can’t stop her eyes from following, tracing the shape of his figure she didn’t know he had.  

“Wait!” North calls out.  She beats herself up internally, attempting to tame the fluttering in her heart that screams what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking.  Is this anxiety?  Or is it fright?  And the word just flew out of her mouth before she could stop it or think about the consequences, or what she would even say. Especially when she’d really meant to shoo him off.  It’s just so stupid!  So, so stupid!

It’s her high hope that he hadn’t paid attention nor heard her, but much to her reluctance, Connor stops mid-stride, turns back and meets her eyes again with an inquisitive gaze.  She should have known his detective ears are too sharp and attentive to miss such a brash call out.

“Your wound… I think we should clean it up first.”  Yes… that’s a perfect excuse to use!  

“Oh, that…”  Connor gently runs two fingers down the spot where his face is cracked.  “It’s nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Nothing, my ass!  If you’re going to show up late, at least let me make sure you show up fashionably.”  Connor sends her a gaze of confusion, but luckily doesn’t brush off her suggestion.  It enlightens her to know he’s truly listening, another admirable trait she didn’t realize he had when they speak so little.  And oh, he has another heart warming smile on again.  

Something about this moment, when they are by themselves, has him sending more human vibes than she’s ever seen him give.  “If you insist.  I suppose I should at least clean myself up.”

Luckily, there’s an emergency repair kit nearby.  Markus was wise to plan for the possibility of this kind of thing happening.  It’s equipped with plastic molds, a few bags of thirium, and other various tools and materials an injured deviant in need would require within urgency.  North opens the glass case, retrieving a clean cloth from one of the shelves, and walks back to Connor’s side, who’s waiting so so patiently.  She’s glad he’s still there, especially when he was in such a hurry to arrive.

It’s a bit of an upward stretch, but North begins where the thirium is most faded, just at his cheek bone.  Being so up close to him feels strange, and yet….. so right.  She’s noticing more things about him than she ever realized before.  His lean-cut uniform makes him look taller, and for some inexplicable reason, she’s imagining how high up she’d have to stand on her toes to reach his lips with hers as they stand so close.  

There’s less than a foot between them, and just maybe he’d have to lean down, too.  No!!  North silently slaps herself.  She shouldn’t be having these thoughts and they’re definitely NOT enticed by his formal attire!  Her desires definitely AREN’T sparked by the gleam of authority of the badge clipped on his chest.  It’s probably the light reflecting off of it that’s blinding her, or so she keeps repeating to herself.

As North continues to gently wipe his face clean of blue blood, another small interesting tidbit catches her attention, her eyes fluttering back and forth between the name monogrammed on his shirt and now much cleaner face.  “Anderson?”

It’s Connor’s turn to blush, bashful as his eyes turn to the floor and hand rises to scratch the back of his head.  “Y-yeah, I figured it would be more fitting to take on Hank’s name.  They needed an official reference to file formalities and I didn’t really know what else to do, especially when…”

North has a feeling she’s been misjudging Connor for a long time.  Whatever he was about to say was from the heart, guessing from the tone in the trail of his last words.  “When… what?”

The detective seems hesitant as he briefly pauses, choosing his next words carefully.  “Ah, I’ll save that for him to share.”

It’s clearly a personal story, and seeing as how the two started off with a partnership from the very beginning of the android revolution, their bond is one that Connor respects greatly.  North can appreciate this.  His silence around the office definitely isn’t just some egotistical attitude like her original assumption, and for once, she recognizes just how much she might be able to trust him.  

“There, looking all clean again,” North says as she steps back to glance at him.  He’s almost fresh enough to walk into a courtroom now.  All that has to be done is to seal the tear in his oddly precious face, but she’s not experienced enough in that field to comfortably attempt it.   

Connor brushes his uniform off a little, straightening and smoothing out some of the leftover crinkles as much as possible.  “Thank you, North.  You were right, definitely better,” he comments with a courteous nod and another look her way.    

A hint of a smile crawls onto her expression, unable to completely hide the satisfaction of really connecting with him for once and hearing her name from his mouth in such a genuine way.  She refuses to answer, else that smile might grow a bit larger than intended, so instead North nods in confirmation, a silent instruction to meet with Markus finally.

He understands her message and turns around once more to disappear around the corner, but for the second time, gets stopped by North’s involuntary voice.  

“Oh, and… blue suits you well.”  She can’t stop the smile that slowly makes itself known again (and she kind of doesn’t care if he sees it now).   “… Lieutenant Anderson.”

[thinlana-blog]

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[panda-noosh]

Anonymous {Shiro x Reader}

Words: 6376

  Summary: Masquerade balls – where people hid behind masks, and people you had known for years become strangers. Dances like these were pointless for some, but for you, they brought you him.

Genre: Angst 

  Notes: masterlist – why do I put Shiro in olden-day settings so often?

***

    The mask covering your face was a little too tight for your liking. The dress you had chosen to wear was a little too uncomfortable, bulging out at the sides and forcing you to apologise every few seconds to the people who were unlucky enough to be in your way during your walk to the wine table.

    That was your main goal; get alcohol in your system as soon as possible. Hopefully it would make the night a little more bearable.

    It wasn't that you hated masquerade balls. Your father threw them often enough at his own home, and you enjoyed the idea of it all, the thrill that came with speaking to people with whom you had no idea the identity of. You could easily be talking to somebody you had known your whole life and have absolutely no idea; secrets could be spilled and no feelings would be hurt, because nobody was aware that it was you spilling them.

    It was the social aspect of it all that irked you. Showing up, talking to people, grinning from ear to ear even though your dress was crushing your rib cage and you were pretty certain the lights from the overhanging chandelier would knock you out soon enough.

   Things were just too much, especially whenever it was the McClain house that was throwing the ball.

    Lance McClain and yourself were old friends. Though the two of you had never been exceptionally close, you were apparently friendly enough to invite one another to the balls your families put on. The McClain family had a new party on every other day, meaning you often had to pick and choose when to show up; it was exhausting going to a party every night, the dresses you were forced to wear never failing to tire you out.

   Why you had chosen to show up to the annual masquerade ball was beyond you.

   You smiled to the people you walked past, unsure whether there was any point to pleasantries at this point. Your mask was covering a good portion of your face, though you had taken the safer route by wearing only a half-mask, cut off at the mouth to allow you to speak. There were plenty of people who wore full-face masks, people who had to hold their masks, people who weren't wearing masks at all, but instead choosing to paint their faces in exotic colours and patterns.

   It was an odd sight, but you expected nothing less from a party held by the McClain family.

   You reached the wine table at long last, immediately reaching towards one of the twinkling glasses you had been eyeing – it was full to the lip, so much so that some of the red wine very nearly splashed over the top of it whenever you picked it up. You grinned to yourself as you took a sip, the sweet taste stinging your tongue but you could already feel muscles loosening, your anxieties wearing away with just a single splash; the McClain's knew their wines.

    You leaned your head back, freshly done hair brushing against the wall behind you. This was nice. Being alone, sipping fine wine whilst people danced around you – people with masks on, nonetheless. People you had an excuse not to speak to if you wanted down time, though you had no doubt in your mind that a couple more sips of wine would bring out the social side of you a lot more than what it was usually.

    But for now, you wanted to enjoy the quiet, enjoy your time alone, let yourself-

    “Excuse me.”

  Your eyes snapped open, head snapping forward away from the wall. Your mask very nearly fell off of your face at the sudden movement, but you were quick to grab it before it could expose who was behind it.

   A man stood in front of you, tall and broad shoulders, wearing a bright blue suit with a white bow tie – you nearly snickered at the sight of a grown man wearing a bow tie, though you were polite enough to keep your humour at bay. Besides, you didn't know who this man was and you were in no mood to make a stranger angry.

    His black hair wasn't slicked back like the other men of the courtroom. Whilst the common style for people nowadays was slicked back hair, away from your face, he had clearly chosen to go against that, letting his black hair flop against his forehead, the ends grey from either dye or stress.

    “Sorry,” you uttered, scrambling out of his way. You hadn't realised you had been blocking the wine table until he had showed up.

    He waved a hand, dismissing your apology. “It's fine. I actually don't drink.”

   You frowned. “So what brings you to the table specifically for alcohol?”

   The unknown man chuckled, dropping his head. You could see a scar peaking out from his collar, white and raised as if it was fresh. You had the urge to reach out and touch it, see if it was still painful for him.

   Instead, you took a sip of your wine.

   “I suppose that's a good question,” he said. “I just needed some time alone. I didn't want to disturb you, but-”

   “No, you did the right thing,” you interrupted. “I was in the way. It would have been embarrassing if somebody actually wanted wine.”

   The man nodded slowly. You could see his eyes through the slits in his mask – a grey colour. Deep grey, like a cloud-filled sky or old concrete. There was a hint of amusement in them as he looked a you – did he recognise you? It wouldn't be so far fetched if he did. Your father was well-known amongst the higher houses of the village, though you weren't a higher house yourself. He did business with many of them – it would be no surprise that this young man was aware of your identity, even with the mask to obscure your features.

    “I don't suppose you'd like some company?” he said suddenly.

  You snapped your eyes away, flushing at being caught oggling at him. “I'm not very good with conversation, sir. My life is far from interesting.”

   “Don't say that.” He seemed to get himself comfortable then, leaning against the table and gazing out at the dance floor, filled with twirling colours that mesmerised you. Dresses of all shapes, sizes and styles were being twirled around the floor, heels clicking, suit tails billowing out as men laughed and shared jostled and loud jokes in the far corners of the room.

   The stranger tilted his head as he looked out at the crowd. “House McClain has truly outdone themselves this time, haven't they?”

   “Mm,” you agreed. “They have a habit of doing that.”

   “The day they go bankrupt will truly be the day entertainment dies.”

   You giggled, surprising yourself. You quickly covered it up by taking another sip of wine.

    “Do you come to the McClain parties often?”

   You shook your head. “Not often. I pick and choose when to make an appearance – the dances are much too commonly occurring for me.”

   The man raised an eyebrow, looking down at you in amusement. “Oh? So you prefer to get an early night? Just how old are you, may I ask?”

   You gape, spinning around to look at him. He chuckles at the expression on your face – what little he can see of it – as you slap him on the arm. “How rude of a question to ask a complete stranger!”

    “Well, I have nothing else to go off of,” he mumbled. “I don't know your name.”

   “Perhaps you never will if you keep teasing me about my sleeping habits.”

   “And are these sleeping habits shared with anyone else?” You raised a brow – it was a common question asked between courts, though you yourself had never been questioned on such a topic. It made your cheeks flush, a red hue arising up from the neck of your dress.

   You coughed. “No. No, they are not.”

    The stranger nodded, looking back out at the crowd. That seemed to be the end of the conversation. You remained by his side for a good portion of the night, sipping away at your wine but suddenly not feeling the incessant urge to lose your mind, make this very night a blur. The stranger kept beside you, as well, only speaking whenever he had some smart or witty remark to make; you had learned he was quite intelligent throughout the first night you had seen him, with him claiming to be the head of a group called Voltron – a group of pilots who worked for the Alteans. Never before had you met someone with a job quite like that, despite him refusing to get into details about what exactly it was he did for his occupation.

    You told him very little about yourself, preferring to keep your private life private. You highly doubted you would see him again after tonight, and so there was no reason for him to get frustrated with his lack of knowledge regarding your identity – that comforted you.

  For some reason, you found yourself not wanting to upset him.

   For some reason, you found yourself upset that this may very well be the last time you spoke to him.

 ***

  The next masquerade ball you attended was a lot less formal; more a fun little night out for people who had nothing better to do with their night.

   You didn't mind being put under that category, since it was hardly a secret that you weren't exactly the most busy person. Coming from a wealthy house was enough to secure you for a lifetime – you didn't have a job to get to, didn't have to worry about spending too much money. You could do as you pleased, and this often left you feeling bored.

   Which was why you soon found yourself wandering into the Garrett manor with your mask tied around your face, your dress a little more flimsy and a lot less bulky than the one you had worn to the McClain party.

   It was light blue and draped down your body, the sleeves made from lace that allowed onlookers to catch a glimpse of your arms, which you folded over your stomach as you walked with your usual grin beating across your face.

   The music the Garrett's had chosen was softer than what you remembered from the McClain manor. It was violins and flutes, whilst the McClain's preferred harsh piano riffs, trumpets, double bass that made the floor rumble.

    The venue itself was large, despite the informalities of the party itself. The dresses women wore were a lot looser, less people dancing and more people mingling. Men still wore tight suits that hugged muscles, a way of showing masculinity in a way that made you scoff; comfort was your main goal for the night.

   You slowly made your way through the crowd, until your arm bumped against another figures; the ballroom was large, and it was still early hours, meaning the collision must have been intentional. It was easy enough for the person to step around you if they so-

   You looked up, eyes nearly popping out of your head as you recognised the person in front of you; it was the grey streaks in his hair that made him so recognisable, that cheeky smirk playing on his lips that told you he knew exactly who you were.

    You were unable to talk as you glanced up at him. Tonight, he dazzled. He wore a different mask – a full-face masked that was bejewelled with sequence that glittered under the harsh party lights. Despite the mask obscuring his features, you could still see the lines by the side of his mouth, indicating his amusement.

   “And we meet again,” he said.  

   “So it seems,” you replied, voice distant as you got over your shock. “Do you just not go to work, sir?”

   The man chuckled, ever so casually reaching his arm out to you. You wound your own through his, allowing him to guide you through the crowd. “I actually work very hard, ma'am. But everybody deserves a break now and then. I think I should be asking you about your occupational habits – it seems like you never miss a party.”

   You winced, flushing with the reality. Whilst he was a hard working man, you spent your time greeting the public alongside your father, trying to impress everyone with a smile and a greeting. It was hardly a difficult task, as much as you complained about it.

    “Well, that doesn't necessarily mean I'll answer,” you said. “I prefer to keep my private life to a minimal at these types of parties. You could very well be a serial murderer for all I'm aware.”

    “Ah. I can assure you I'm not, but I appreciate the logic.”

    You smiled, seeming to forget that your mask only covered half of your face. The man at your side chuckled at the sight of your amusement, leading you through the ever-thickening crowd until the two of you arrived at the seating lounge. It was barely full, a few people drinking wine and chatting by the sofa's – including Hunk Garrett himself. He looked up, immediately raised his arms at the sight of the man by your side.

   “Shiro, my good man!” he exclaimed. Your eyes widened – Shiro. So that was this strange figures name.

   Shiro didn't seem to mind the exposure of his identity. He was grinning from ear to ear, letting your arm drop from his elbow as he marched towards the broader man with an equal amount of excitement as Hunk was showing him.

    “Hello, big guy,” Shiro responded, before the two friends embraced. You stood awkwardly to the side, crossing your arms in front of you. You knew you should have left, perhaps gone and mingled with some more of the court ladies, but your feet kept you rooted to the ground.

    The two men pulled away from one another – Hunk had long since deserted his mask by the looks of it, his sweaty face glowing beneath the lights. You had to admit that the Garrett lad was handsome, muscular where others his age were lanky and could barely hold a sword in their hands. Hunk had a squared off jaw, broad shoulders, had sprouted since his early teenage days; he was most definitely growing into a soldier.

    “I didn't think you'd come, you know,” Hunk said. Shiro stepped back as the man spoke, gently grabbing your hand and winding it back around his arm. The action shocked you, and yet you found yourself comforted by his somewhat-protective embrace.

   “Foolish of you to think such a thing,” Shiro scoffed. “I don't think I've missed a Garrett ball since I was ten years old.”

   “And I'll never forgive you for that time you fell ill and couldn't make it,” Hunk laughed. “What was it you got? Crick throat?”

    Shiro flushed, kicking Hunk's shin jokingly. It was only then did he seem to realise you were still by his side, and he quickly turned to look at you. “Hunk, this is my mysterious friend – Anonymous, I've taken to calling her.”

   You raised a brow, stifling your giggle behind a greeting smile in Hunk's direction. You and Hunk had never spoken, though he had once sat beside you during your Latin lessons. It would be a large surprise if he were to remember you.

    And judging by the bow he gave to you and the fact that he had yet to expose who you were, he didn't.

    “It's a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I understand your hesitance to tell us who you are. It kind of ruins the fun whenever people know who's behind the mask.”

   “I suppose it's difficult for you to keep any hint of subtlety with a body like yours, big guy,” Shiro joked. “You've taken to working out, I presume?”

   Hunk shrugged nonchalantly, flexing his arms beneath the black blazer he was wearing. “A few nights a week. Nothing major. Would you like to join me at some point?”

  Shiro shook his head. “I'm much too busy. I can just barely get time out of my schedule to attend your parties – you and Lance are definitely going to have to settle down with the celebrations.”

   Hunk chuckled, clapping a hand to Shiro's back. You could only watch on in awe at the friendly interaction – you had been to thousands of these parties, whether you wanted to or not. Never before had you seen two people get along so well – Hunk was of a higher house. Higher houses very rarely interacted with the lesser houses, always seeing themselves as better. The only higher house you had ever been close with was the McClain's, and even they had their prejudices drilled into their minds.

   Shiro couldn't have been from a higher house; he worked for a living, first of all. People of high ranking didn't work. Secondly, you had never heard of his name before today, and the McClain ball had been the first time you had ever seen him.

    And yet he was standing before you now, jostling and joking around with one of the most prestigious members of house Garrett, as if it was absolutely no big deal. You hadn't failed to notice the fact that he hadn't even bowed upon walking into the lounge, dismissing all common courtesy you had been raised to show towards people of higher ranking than yourself.

   For some reason, his confidence made you smile. He radiated a leader aura to him, even as he spoke to Hunk. He was joking around, and yet it was clear he knew what he was doing. He was thinking about his words before he said them, yet still managing to make the conversation seem natural, unclipped.

   After not so long, Hunk and Shiro said their goodbyes to one another and you and Shiro were heading back out onto the main dance floor. It had become more crowded now, people finally beginning to arrive in their groups and huddles. High houses were everywhere, and you made an effort to bow to each one you passed. Shiro was a little more reluctant to bow to the higher houses, even grimacing in the direction of some.

    “I don't know how you can treat them like royalty,” he said suddenly, as the two of you approached the balcony doors. You hadn't planned this – going out onto a balcony with a stranger in the dead of night was perhaps one of the worst ideas you could have come up with, but you didn't fight the direction he was leading you.

   You narrowed your eyes, looking up at him in curiosity. “The higher houses?”    “Mm.”

    “Well, it's quite risky to not treat them like royalty – they're nobles.”

   Shiro scoffed as the two of you finally stepped onto the balcony. The night sky drowned you immediately, making you gawk at how pretty it looked tonight. The stars had always been a sight you had taken to admiring, but tonight they seemed specially bright, as if lighting up the sky for you and you only.

    You stepped away from Shiro's embrace and made your way to the railing, hands curling around the cold metal as if to stabilize you. Shiro took a minute to follow in your footsteps, idling by the glass door with his arms folded over his chest, enjoying the view just as much as you were. The moon was hung up, surrounded by little dots of fire that lit up the sky like torches. Wisps of white tore through the dark sheen, adding a magical element to the already gorgeous sky.

    Shiro stepped up beside you at long last. You didn't have to look to the side to know he was there. He simply was. His presence was felt, a tear in time that off-balanced you for a moment. That was what Shiro was best at, apparently – making himself known without having to do anything drastic.

   His hand placed itself on the small of your back, and the two of you gazed out at the stars in silence.

    His breathing was shallow, and you could see the mist escaping from his lips when he exhaled. It mingled with yours in the air, disappearing when a breeze flittered past. You imagined your breaths rising into the night sky, curling up with the stars, becoming a part of the constellations as a reminder that you had seen them, you had watched them, you had appreciated them on this night.

    You shattered the silence first. “Shiro.”

    His head snapped down to look at you, his hand tensing on the small of your back as if he was afraid you were going to tell him off for being so forward. He let his hand drop to his sides, stuffed it into his trouser pocket with a flush now adorning his cheeks, lit up only by the lantern hung up by the door behind you.

   “Yes?”

   “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “I just wanted to try it out. Your name, I mean. I've never heard one quite like it.”

   “It's not local,” he said gruffly.

   You raised an eyebrow, turning your head to look at him. He was still looking down at you, face obscured by his mask. “Where do you come from?”

    He inhaled deeply, and you knew then that the fun aura the night had once possessed was now drowned out by this very question. You could just barely make out the evidence of a frown lingering on his lips behind his bedazzled mask as he turned back to look out at the stars, bunching his shoulders up around his ears to protect himself from the cold.

   “Everywhere,” he replied.

  A simple answer. It sent shivers up your spine anyway, shivers that you dismissed for the cold.    

    “Did the nobles treat you badly?” you found yourself asking, now unable to stop yourself.

   “I do believe you were the one who scolded me for asking a personal question the last time we met.”

   You flushed. “My apologies if you don't feel comfortable answering my question. Now that I know your name, I just feel like there's no point in hiding.”

   “A name isn't a key to somebodies private life. You should know that better than anyone, since you're so hesitant to give me yours.”

    “Y/N,” you replied before you could stop yourself. Shiro tensed at the side of you, though he did not look down at you. He instead nodded slowly, clenching his jaw. “Y/N of house L/N.”

   “A pretty high house,” he grumbled, a slight tinge of disdain in his voice.

  You nodded slowly. “High enough. Which is why I'm curious as to why you have such hatred for the higher houses.”

   “It's not hatred,” he said. “I put up with them, just like everybody else. I follow their rules, just like everybody else. But I'll be damned if they expect me to bow down to them anytime I see them, as if I have something to thank them for.” He hollowed out his cheeks. “Apologies. I mean no offence.”

    “None taken,” you said. There was no offence taken. You could see his logic perfectly. All your life, people had bowed to you whenever you made eye contact with them, made you feel like some higher being. To others, people who had not basked in that luxury their entire lives, may find that pleasing, a life they wished to live. Having everything at your beck and call, but it was never all it was made out to be.

    “I suppose I've just never taken lightly to ranking,” Shiro continued. “Everybody is a person. We all have to go through life, whether we want to or not. Some people are just better off, get it easier than others. That doesn't make them special. At least, I don't think so.”

   “I would agree.”

  Shiro's gaze snapped down to you, causing you to grin in amusement.

   “What?” you chuckled. “Shiro, you couldn't have spent hours with me tonight and truly thought that I believed myself to be better than anyone else. I haven't even scolded you for not bowing to me when we first met.”

   Shiro flushed. “No. No, of course not.”

   “Don't get shy on me now,” you scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. “I enjoy the normalcy you bring me. It's a breath of fresh air compared to the cramped lifestyle I'm so used to living in.” You shrugged. “I suppose living as a noble isn't as grand as people seem to thing it is. It's quite – constricting, actually.”

    “Constricting? How can it be constricting whenever you have everything at your fingertips?”

   You winced, knowing that would be his mindset. It was the mindset of everybody else, made you seem ungrateful whenever you complained about your lack of freedom. People would look at you with disgust, make comments such as, “You have no right to complain when you have everything.”

   You had money. You were of a higher rank than a lot of people, and you could buy whatever you wanted. But there was only so much money could do towards a persons happiness, and it was definitely being stretched thin for you. You found yourself not wanting products, physical goods. You wanted freedom. You wanted to walk around the village in normal clothes, go out with your friends without having to be on your best behaviour at all times.

   You wanted this. You wanted what Shiro had given you.

   Even now, after learning of your high rank, he still wasn't treating you any differently to what he had when he was oblivious.

    “It's not always as good as it seems, Shiro,” you replied finally. Shiro continued to stare at you, a slight sliver of shock still evident on his face.

   You turned, hands clasped in front of you. “Maybe we should go inside. It's getting a little chilly now.”

   Shiro was too stunned to protest.

  ***

   “Stand up straighter. You look like an imbecile,” your father hissed, nudging your arm with his elbow as the two of you walked side-by-side through the aisles of the event you had been invited to attend on this cold spring morning.

   You would have paid good money for another ten minutes of rest, but your father had all but dragged you out of the confines of your bed so you could accompany him today. He would have to forgive you if you weren't in your greatest of moods.

   Either way, you did as he said and straightened up your posture, trying your hardest to keep your smile on your face. You nodded and bowed to the people you walked past, all herded behind metal barriers, reaching out in their attempts to shake your hand. On a good day, your father would allow you to walk over and greet them, though today was strictly business apparently. There would be no greeting people; you would have to show off the more dominant side of your house name, a feature you were not particularly good at doing.

    So you kept silent.

  Your father and yourself were led to the main field the event was taking place; from what you had heard, it was an awards ceremony for pilots who had fought for the kingdom. Though you nor your father were permitted to grant anybody any medals due to your lower status amongst the higher houses, you were still permitted to be there amongst the nobles to show your appreciation for the military.

    You supposed this wasn't the worst way to spend your morning. Sitting down and watching heroes get gifted medals wasn't tasking, and it meant you could relax for a little while; an easy enough task if it didn't require your fathers company.

    You made your way to your seats amongst the other nobles, shaking Collette Holt's hand with a kind dip of your head. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, sliding over to give you room to sit down. You searched for your father before doing so, realising he had gone to sit with the McClain house without a second glance in your direction. With a nonchalant shrug, you sat down beside Collette and got ready for the main event to begin.

   It didn't take long before people were filing out onto the stage. Nobles made speeches, soldiers from previous wars made speeches, and the entire time you clapped along, smiling, nodding, pretending you could make out a single word they were saying. Most of them spoke much too fast with the nerves no doubt coursing through them. Standing up in front of the entire kingdom was surely a daunting task for people who had been hidden behind violence and death for the past few months.

   Collette made the odd comment about how brave the soldiers were, and you agreed.

    And then the pilots were being welcomed, and you were fairly certain your stomach fell from your body.

    It was difficult to hide your shock. Your fingers tightened on the arm rest of the chair you were seated on, eyes popping open only now it was obvious; there was no mask to shield your surprise, no way to hide the blush crawling up your neck and your cheeks, flooding your face instantly.

   Because he was there, standing at the dais with his shoulders drawn back and his hair styles in it's unusual way of being flopped across his forehead as if he hadn't even bothered to run his hands through it that morning. Yet he made it look good – those grey ends, the ones you were so familiar with despite only seeing them twice for a few hours each time.

    Pidge tilted her head, looking at you past her mother. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

   You swallowed thickly and nodded, slumping back on your seat in a most unladylike fashion, but you didn't care. Your heartbeat was frantic, a sudden need to walk up to him overtaking you.

   Instead, you sat back and watched him speak.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming,” he began, voice confident and clear. “My name is Takashi Shirogane, captain of squad Voltron and former members of the Galaxy Garrison. I am very proud to be able to finally put medals on my mens necks, as it is very much deserved with the hard work they have put in and the risks they have taken over the past two years. It's a pleasure to have them home, and we will forever remember our fallen brothers from this day forth, remembering them for their bravery and their hardships in their final days.”

   He bowed his head then, and music rang out over the speakers. The pilots – the ones who had survived – slowly filed across the stage behind him, trembling with nerves. The lines up, shoulder-to-shoulder, making it obvious that they had been through a lot together. They were clearly brothers and sisters now, family. It tugged at your heart strings. Whilst you were at home, complaining of a life of luxury, they were off at war, watching their friends die for the sake of the kingdom you so often took for granted.

   You glanced over at Shiro, now beginning to realise the reason behind his hostility towards the nobles. It began to make sense; the things he must have seen, the life he must have suffered through before getting to where he was now. He surely had friends who he had watched die, people he felt a need to protect.

   And you were complaining about attending a masquerade ball whenever you were feeling a little under the weather.

    It was that realisation that had you getting out of your seat once the ceremony was over. You took one cautious glance over your shoulder, making sure your father was still distracted by his mingling, before you slipped out of the stands and rushed out onto the main field towards Shiro. He was busy dealing with his microphone, tugging at the collar of his shirt at the side of the stage as his men filed off to greet their proud families.

   You rushed right up to him and grabbed his arm.

   You weren't sure what to say when he looked up at you, eyes popping open in surprise. He had never seen your face fully before, but the recognition in his eyes was difficult to miss – he knew who you were. He remembered you.

    His hands stilled on the collar of his dress shirt, grey eyes trailing down your figure for a moment. You blushed, realising you had run up to him with little to no idea what you were meant to tell him – were you to apologise? Tell him you had reached some almighty conclusion about life?

   Whatever it was, it needed to be quick. Before your father noticed your absence. Before your father realised you were talking to somebody who was below you in rank.

    “Shiro.” His name fell from your lips. It was the only way you could think to begin.

   He raised a brow, looking over your shoulder as if afraid somebody would see the two of you together. “Y/N.”

   “That speech was – wow. I didn't realise you would – you would be here.”

   He nodded slowly. “Surprise?”

    “I understand why you dislike the nobility so much,” you said quickly. “I didn't before, but I do now, and I realise just how much I feed into the category of annoying, ungrateful rich people. Your speech made me realise that. Your friends have died before your eyes, and you didn't complain about it a single time whenever we were together. That takes some amount of strength.”

   “It's not exactly something I can just slip into the conversation, though, is it?”

   You shook your head, swallowing through the lump in your throat. There was more you wanted to say. There was so much more you wanted to say, so much more you wanted to apologise for, but there was so little time and so little words to express what you were truly feeling.

   So instead, you reached up and brushed your fingers over his sharp cheekbones. You felt him tense in front of you, his fingers still tightly gripping the microphone pinned to his shirt. His eyes snapped down to look at you, and you couldn't help but notice just how beautiful they looked without the mask obscuring them, without the darkness of the party dulling the true colour behind them.

   They glittered like stars.

    “I'm proud of you,” you mumbled. It was an understatement, but the only words you could think of in this moment. They were too simple. Shiro didn't deserve simple. He deserved complex, words woven with beauty and care, crafted in the same way he crafted them – with such care, with such thought put behind them.

   But you would never be able to do such a thing. He was the speaker, apparently, but he didn't seem to mind your lack of knowledge towards beautiful speech. He closed his eyes, surprising you when he reached up and gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist, keeping it pressed to his cheek.

   “Nobody has ever said that to me before,” he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. You could barely hear him over the chattering crowd, but you were close enough to him to be able to make out the confession that completely shattered your heart.

    You nodded slowly. “I'm happy to be the first.”

   “I'm happy you're the first too,” he said, eyes opening to meet yours. And there was a moment where the world wasn't there, where your guilt dissipated and left you feeling nothing but true pride in the man standing before you. The man who had treated you like a normal person, the man who had been hidden behind a mask during the first two times you had met him.

   Perhaps feelings weren't meant to be so strong at times like this. He was clearly emotional after his speech, still trying to recover from the memory of his fallen brothers. But he was in front of you, and he was staring into your eyes, and suddenly there was no ranking system. You were equals. You were together, bound in the same group with no competition to cloud your vision.

   He pulled your hand from his cheek and tangled his fingers with yours, the action swift. You noted how he hid your conjoined hands between your bodies, taking swift glances over your shoulder to make sure nobody could see you.

   No. That's not right.

   Before you could stop yourself, before the noble woman in you could hop out, you raised his hand and pressed your lips to the back of his palms. His eyes popped open in surprise, a flurry of panic taking over his features as a way nobles walking past gasped at the rare sight.

   You didn't care. Not whenever Shiro stepped closer to you, wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you into him, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

   You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, laughing breathily into his ear in a way that made him flick his head slightly, as if your breathing had tickled him. It made you chuckle, and he growled, pressing his lips to your collar bone in warning.

   You grew comfortable. For the first time in months, you were yourself, not hiding behind the noble act you were supposed to keep up for family name. You were purely, utterly and completely yourself, engulfed in the arms of the man who had once been nothing more than a kind stranger, wearing a mask on the dance floor.

[books-and-dragons]

Request if you feel like it: Ryuji being 1. ecstatic and 2. extra clingy of Ren after Ren gets released from jail in February.

I’m so sorry this took to bloody long! Actually no idea how I managed to take this long, but hey….

Anyway, thank you so much for the request! Damn I’m so here for clingy Ryuji, I also combined this with another aspect I wanted to include if that’s okay? Either way, thank you!!

Part one is here for the nosies

Leblanc was busy with guests, a rarity only known to occurwhen the formerly-known Phantom Thieves of Hearts were visiting. The teensfilled the time-worn seats, lukewarm cups of coffee or flat soda infront ofthem, not so much as a sip taken. The room was silent, their gazes were fixatedon the door, waiting.

How long they’d been waiting, it was hard to say.

After Yusuke arrived, the others seemed to follow in asimilar haste. The excited grins unwavering from their faces as they settledinto seats, at first trying to make conversation so the time would pass overfaster, an effort that they eventually gave up on after frequent glances at thedoor, nervous tapping of fingernails on ceramic, and sudden pauses inconversation, as they eased into silence.

A silenced that was broken by the gentle chiming ofLeblanc’s door carefully being pushed open.

Ryuji felt like he might have gotten whiplash from how fasthis head snapped up, and he found that he had no problem with that as he seteyes on his boyfriend for the first time in months.

Same fluffy head of hair, same wide doe eyes and gentlesmile. Gripping the familiar worn, tan bag that was flung over his shoulder, heheld himself with the same quiet grace he always had, gazing around the room inseeming surprise.

But as Ryuji looked closer, Akira wasn’t quite the same.

His hair was slightly more lifeless, framing dull eyes thatseemed to flicker around the room, pink lips strained into a hesitant smile.His shoulders were slightly more hunched, as if he were trying to make himselfsmaller. Ryuji wondered if anyone had noticed the changes, or if it was justhim.

But all that could wait to think of later.

Akira was back.

Faster than anyone could have predicted, Ryuji rose from hisseat, pushing off from the sofa as he sped to Akira, the other teens but a bluraround them. Without haste, he wrapped one arm around the raven-haired teen’swaist, and pulled him in for a searing kiss, the other hand coming up to wavethrough his messy curl of hair, holding him in place.

Akira didn’t hesitate, arms snaked around the blonde’s neck,pulling him closer with an almost desperate fervour. They couldn’t help thesoft smiles on both their faces as they pulled apart, gazes not wavering fromone another, slate grey on warm chocolate, until their attention was forciblyredirected with an impatient clearing of someone’s throat.

Turning their gaze away from one another, they were met withthe expectant gazes of their friends. From where he had slipped around the duoto stand by the counter, Sojiro was raising one eyebrow, carefully watchingthem. A light pink flourished on both of their faces.

Slowly, Akira began to peel away from Ryuji, withdrawing hisarms to hang by his side as he took a few steps back, or at least he tried to.Ryuji’s grip steeled, pulling Akira tightly to his side by the waist, gaze notstraying from the other teens and barista. Akira’s cheeks burned as he staredat the blonde, surprised.

“Damn Ryuji, save some Akira for the rest of us!” Annlaughed as she rose from her seat, arms wide as she walked towards the pair-gaze flickering to Ryuji expectantly.

Ryuji grumbled under his breath, releasing his hold on Akirajust in time for Ann to pull him in for a hug, arms winding around his torso ashe let one arm run up his back to tousle his hair.

“We missed you.” She mumbled, before reluctantly letting himgo, stepping back to allow room for Haru.

Then Makoto. Then Yusuke. Then Futaba.

Each taking turns to pull Akira into a tight embrace,whispering light reprimands of his recklessness and expressions of relief tofinally have him back. They had waited months for this, tireless planning,intricate detailing and contacts, all worth it to have their leader back withthem. One hug couldn’t possibly be enough, but with the way Ryuji immediatelylatched to Akira’s side and sat down next to him on one of the sofas, they knewthey’d have to be patient. Sharing a knowing smile, the rest of the group allfell into place around them, filling the previously empty seats. Sojiro sneakingout under the excuse of buying groceries, watching after Akira with a contentedsmile before he left with the jingle of the door.

Ryuji beamed, pulling his arm thrown around Akira’sshoulders tighter, letting the boy bump against him. Momentarily his beamflickered to a frown, Akira’s shoulders were way bonier than they used to be.

Around them, the team laughed, oblivious to Ryuji’s plight,as they filled Akira in on what happened while he was gone, cheering hisreturn. Their voices intermingled, one cheerful voice climbing atop another,vying for their leader’s attention.

Akira’s eyes glittered as he listened to how his team workedtogether to free him from juvie, soft yet slightly bitten lips parted into ajoyous grin as they told him about how the team had bickered for hours aboutwho would confront Iwai (and tousled locks rustled as Akira shamefully duckedhis head while Makoto warned him of how she’s be reprimanding him for gettinginvolved in the Mafia. Ryuji thought he had it coming, really- he still wasn’tover the shady Yakuza shit or the dangerous drug trials).

But up close, his cheeks were hollow, dark circles under hiseyes even worse than before he had left for juvie. Even as he leaned againstRyuji, there was a tension in his physique, as if he were ready to fight orflee at any moment.

As the thieves continued to chatter, Ryuji’s grip around hisboyfriend tightened. In turn, Akira relaxed against him ever so slightly.

And then the jingle of the Leblanc door sounded.

The stupidly bright smile on Akira’s grin as Morgana curledon his lap almost made Ryuji feel ready to forgive the cat for leaving them forso long. Almost. The cat still wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for months, ifnot years.

But as Morgana purred, and Akirasmiled, one hand running through the cat’s fur as another held the hand Ryujididn’t have thrown around his boyfriend’s shoulder, Ryuji was willing to forgetabout it all for now.

As the last of the group left, Yusuke throwing a soft smiletowards their leader before closing the door behind him, Akira headed upstairsto the attic.

It was like he’d never left. Same modestly basic structure, ricketywindows held together by slowly-rusting metal, old television resting on aspare table next to the worn and uncomfortable sofa which left you with thefeeling of springs digging into your back for days. Only this time, the finelayer of dust that so commonly coated every notable surface was missing,instead replaced by glossy sheens and visible wears in the wooden framing andbeaming of the attic.

Delicately, Akira ran one hand over the polished table bythe stairs, his hand coming to a halt by the cat who was staring up at him, aknowing glint in his eye.

“I’ll stay with Futaba tonight, give you two some privacy.”Morgana smiled, butting against Akira’s hand gently, before jumping down fromthe table, and speeding over to the windowsill, open window waiting him todisappear into the night. After him, Ryuji closed the squeaking windowpane,expelling the chilling winter breeze from sweeping through the alreadypoorly-insulated attic. He turned on his heels, taking one moment to allow hiseyes to linger on Akira’s frame, before a wide smile split across his face.

Before Akira could so much as blink, he was being held inRyuji’s tight grip, strong arms wound tight around his waist, chin resting onhis shoulder. Without hesitation, Akira wound his own arms around the blonde’storso, a smile lingering as he pressed his face into the curve of hisboyfriend’s neck.

“Shit. I missed you so much.” Ryuji’s voice was barely pasta mumble, tickling Akira’s ear, carrying to easily in the silence of the nowempty café.

Akira’s grip tightened ever so slightly, “I missed you too.”He sighed, taking a moment to nuzzle into Ryuji’s neck before he began to pullaway. “Let’s change, I’ve missed proper pyjamas.” Plus, then they could snugglein bed, much better than standing.

However, Ryuji didn’t share his sentiment.

Muscled arms tightened and pulled him tighter against theother teen, who grumbled moodily in his ear, “A little longer, five moreminutes….”

Akira smiled, shaking his head as he drew his torso away,still attached by Ryuji’s firm grip on his waist, Akira faced the blonde as heallowed one hand to softly cradle his cheek, thumb delicately tracing the skinas he peered into warm chocolate-brown eyes, which couldn’t seem to stray fromhis own. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Ryuji’s eyes widened, as Akiraslightly shook his head, “Once we’re changed and in bed, I promise we cancontinue.”

Ryuji stared at him a moment longer, as if in contemplation,before nodding and beginning to unwind his arms reluctantly. Akira smiled, andleaned forward to press one gentle kiss on his cheek before turning to get hisjoggers and top, still lying in the cardboard box he had always kept hisbelongings in. Behind him, he heard Ryuji shuffling through the bag he alwayskept at the café, just for nights like these.

It took the pair a few minutes to change, shuffle of clothesthrown onto the sofa to be dealt with in the morning, lights being flickeredoff, before they were curled up together in the worn bed that could hardly evenbe called a bed. For all of Akira’s efforts spending his every spare yen onimproving its comfort, it remained to be a box of crates, with the most recentaddition of a mattress atop it.

The attic was dark, lit only by the streetlights of Yongenand the slight shine of the moon, and as Ryuji stared at Akira, he couldn’thelp but stare in admiration. Gently, he ran one hand through moonlit-touchedobsidian locks, as Akira leaned into the gesture. The two shared a smile, asthat arm ran down to once again encircle Akira’s waist, pulling him closer asthe other boy’s arm hung loosely around the blonde. Faces inches fromeachother, they shared a soft smile.

“Three months.” Ryuji murmured, frowning to himself, asAkira shook his head ever so slightly.

“Worth it. All worth it, we’re together now.” The teen’ssmile remained to be soft and warm, but there was a tightness to his gaze, arigidness in his shoulders.

Ryuji sighed, “Was it though? Look, I wanted to save this‘till morning but…” A deep breath, Ryuji locked his eyes on Akira’s own deepgrey ones and steeled his resolve, “You said nothing, nothing, shit we were together the night before and you never saida word. You never even thought about doin’ anything different other thanhandin’ yourself over, and I’m sick of it! Those weird drugs trials, the Yakuzashit, the i-interrogation, and even handin’ yourself over to the police. I-it’slike you don’t even care about y-yourself dude, please, just-just,” A deep, shuddering breath, “……why?”

When had he started crying?

Slowly, a few tears rolling down his face onto the pillow,Ryuji didn’t allow his (admittedly slightly watery) gaze to stray from Akira’sown.

The teen in question had froze in his arms, and for a momenthis eyes darted around and avoided Ryuji’s own with a stubborn determination. Theblonde took the moment to raise his other arm and wipe at the tears, beforeAkira’s gaze flickered back to him.

“Look,” The teen sighed, “I know. I should’ve told you,okay? I-I just….we were having such a great night, and if I knew if I broughtit up you’d try persuade me not to and I just….” Another head shake, “It allworked in the end though, didn’t it? I’m fine, alive and well.”

As if to emphasise his point, the smile again became warmand soft as his hand moved from where it had been against Ryuji’s back togently caressing the blonde’s cheek, thumb tracing the slight tear streak leftbehind. Ryuji’s own hand snapped up from where it had been around Akira’s waistto grab at his wrist. Thumb and finger overlapping with ease.

“’And well’, huh?”Ryuji shook his head, releasing the wrist to instead wind back around Akira’swaist, and creep up to brush his ribs, “You were skinny before you left, this-this is inhumane,Akira. The others were right, you’ve lost weight, too much- whatever treatmentyou had in there, it was was nowhere near ‘well’.” Ryuji’s grip on Akiratightened, his eyes became shadowed, “Everyday you were gone I kept thinkin’about that day in November, a-and seein’ you now-“

“Hey,” Akira soothed, thumb continuing to trace the outlineof where tears had once fallen, “That was in the past, okay? We made it out,and that’s all that matters, no more of those thoughts okay?” He leanedforward, lightly pecking at the tip of his nose before pulling back, “Let’s notthink about it anymore, okay?”

Ryuji sighed, but nodded. Akira couldn’t keep repressingeverything he went through, it wasn’t healthy, but they could discuss itanother time- maybe when he had at least Sojiro and Futaba to back him up.Maybe that shady doctor too, she hadmentioned wanting to do a check-up on him once he was released….

“You got it,” Ryuji promised, smile splitting into a grin ashe pulled Akira closer, intertwining their legs, “Instead let’s think about howI finally get you to myself. None of the others getting’ in the way.”

Akira laughed, it was a lighthearted chime, free of thetraumas of the past year. Ryuji wanted to hear it forever. “You dork, they were there for oneafternoon.”

Teasingly, Ryuji lightly brushed his fingers over Akira’s ribs,the resulting giggle the snuck past the other boy’s lips echoed around thesilent room, and Ryuji couldn’t help but close the little distance between them,lightly pressing his lips over Akira’s own for just that moment before pullingaway, stupid grins on both their faces.

“One afternoon too long, if they kept me from doing that.” Ryujigrinned, taking a moment to relax into Akira’s gentle combing of his hair,before leaning forward, “Now I gotta make up for lost time.”

Loud giggles filled the room, sheets rustled, the onlyinterruption being the occasional laughing protest, as one teen attempted tohalf-heartedly bat away the other, who was peppering kisses across his face.

“Ryuji! Stop it!” Akira’s face was flushed, whether from theattention or the giggling was anyone’s guess, as the blonde eventually pulledaway, mischievous grin lighting up his face. Nothing but adoration glittered inhis hazel eyes as one pale hand reached over to cup his face, their breathsslowly regulating from earlier giggling. Slowly, a slightly tanned hand reachedup to cover the pale one.

They spent a few minutes like that, lit under the moonlightpouring in through the attic window, happy in eachothers’ embrace, beforelightly-bitten lips broke open into a soft smile, as the same pale hand movedto grip it’s slightly more tanned other, interlacing fingertips slowly.

“I thought about this moment every day since I left.” Akira’svoice was soft, hushed, but to Ryuji it could have carried across the entiretyof Mementos. Loud as the rallying cries of support for the Phantom Thieves onthat fateful day, only this meant so much more.

Ryuji’s smile mirrored Akira’s own, as he gently squeezedthe hand he was holding, “Me too,” The other teen’s legs shifted slightly, oneleg hanging over his own thigh, pulling him closer, “Seeing you again has beenall I’ve thought about.”

Again, Ryuji found a pair of lips pressed against his own,gentle and swift, but enough, as Akira pulled away, “We’re back now, Ryu, andthat’s all that matters.” The boy’s eyes fluttered slightly, those long lashescasting a shadow under his eyes in the moonlight, before slate grey eyes lockedonto his own, “You look exhausted, let’s sleep for now.”

“I look exhausted?”Ryuji muttered under breath, but nodded in agreement nonetheless. He hadn’tbeen sleeping well at all since Akira’s arrest, especially not last night- theexcitement to have him back kept Ryuji from closing his eyes for so much as afew minutes. But now, hands interlaced and curled up next to one another, Ryujiprepared himself for the best night’s sleep in a long time- so did Akira.Months on the hard, unrelenting ‘mattress’ of Juvie beds had been killer, evenmore so without the comfort of Ryuji beside him and the loneliness of being putinto solitary confinement.

Just being with the all-encompassing warmth that was RyujiSakamoto was enough. He watched on, smile on his face, as Ryuji’s eyesfluttered shut, and before long his breathing evened out.

Meanwhile, Akira’s eyes remained stubbornly open.

Slowly, he peeled his hand out of Ryuji’s now-lax grip,bringing it up to weave through bleached locks. In his sleep, the smile hadn’tfaded from Ryuji’s face, but instead seemed to grow ever so slightly as heleaned into the touch with a slight murmur. Akira muffled a small laugh at thesight, sitting upright as he stared down at his boyfriend.

Even now, in the company of the very person he had longed tosee for his entire isolation, he couldn’t sleep. Pathetic.

It was then that something caught his eye, or more preciselyhis ears. A faint buzzing echoed, hitting off some solid surface. Akira frowned,tearing his eyes away from the figure of the sleeping blonde to scour the room,his search didn’t take long.

Right where he’d left it plugged in, on the worktop, camethe faint glow of his phone.

He’d forgotten about it. In the rush of seeing the thieves,and Sojiro and being back with Ryuji, catching up on his phone has been thelast thing on his mind.

But with everyone else gone, and Ryuji asleep, and himnowhere near able to fall asleep, Akira slowly untwined his legs from wherethey were tangled with Ryuji’s and carefully set his feet on the cold wood ofthe attic floor.

Usually, he would have had to keep the gasp of shock whenencountering that chilling cold quiet, but months in Juvie had conditioned himenough to be used to it by now.

With the stealth of the phantom thievery days, Akira snuckacross the room to his workbench, avoiding all the creaky floorboards, stillremembering their locations from the times he snuck out in the middle of thenight when Morgana was around, the cat would’ve ended him to find him not asleep in bed at 1am.

As he picked up the phone, he had to momentarily tear hisgaze away before lowing the brightness.

His phone was swamped. Notification after notification, itwould take him forever to go throughall of this.

With a sigh, he crept back to bed, careful not to disruptRyuji as he turned away from the sleeping blonde, back to him as he curledaround his phone, ready for a night of clearing and reading and responding.Fun.

Most messages dated back from Christmas day, well wishesturned to panic to anger or sadness or desperation- Akira couldn’t bringhimself to read any of those messages. Instead, he focused on the more recenttexts, ones of warm welcome and demands to meet up again (and probably tell himoff for the juvie thing, as Sojiro had spent basically the whole car drive backdoing it, the thieves had spent a good hour or so reprimanding him, and thenRyuji broached it too). He’d reply in the morning, at a moresocially-acceptable time. Besides, while meeting up with friends and confidantswas important, it wasn’t what drew his attention.

Countless voicemails. Dating back to the 25thDecember, some as frequent as a few times a day, othertimes there could be upto a week in the gap- all from the same person.

Ryuji.

Before he could stop himself, Akira was ringing thevoicemail, curled up around the audio-regulated voice of his boyfriend’s.

His stomach clenched.

When Ryuji woke up, it wasn’t to blinding sunlight streamingin through open windows, nor to Akira’s fuzzy bedhead and his bleary eyes,pulling Ryuji into a tight hug for ‘5more minutes’ as Morgana griped at them to get up (either that or the dumbcat was curled up snoozing next to Akira’s head, hypocrite).

Instead, Ryuji woke to the ghostly lighting of the moonshining down on fluffy, dark hair, and a way-too-slim frame turned away fromhim, curled up with some sort of artificial light glowing around them. Therewas some sort of audio too, but Ryuji didn’t give it too much attention as heshifted forward, throwing one arm around Akira’s waist as he leaned forward.

“Whatcha doin’?” His voice was heavy with sleep, but itseemed to get the message across as Akira jumped, head swivelling to face him,eyes wide in shock. He seemed to fiddle with his phone for a sec, before theaudio cut off- not that Ryuji had been giving it much attention.

“Ryuji?! What’re you doing up? Did I wake you?” Akira frowned,shifting to turn and face the sleepy teen, one hand held his phone away fromRyuji’s eyeline.

“Dunno….what’re youdoin’ up, Aki?” Ryuji murmured, trying to rub his eyes in an attempt to be morecoherent with his thoughts.

“I-I..uh…it’s not important, okay? Why don’t we go back tosleep?” Akira’s eyes seemed to shine with something Ryuji had hoped to neversee again, something Akira sported for more than any person should. That samelook that shadowed him when he was at his most vulnerable, and it was the verylook he was giving Ryuji in that moment, as he tried to settle the teen.

“No.” Ryuji shook his head, propping himself up on hiselbows, “Somethin’s up, talk to me.”

For someone who had been dead to the world 5 minutes ago,Ryuji’s stare sure was intense. Akira found himself shifting under it.

“Nothing, I swear, look it’s late and-“

“Akira.” It was the middle of the night, no messing aroundat this time.

The teen sighed, adverting his eyes. In the dark-haired boy’shands, he was fiddling with something- his phone maybe?- as he talked.

“It’s nothing, we should probably-“

“You mean Ishould.” Ryuji frowned, one arm coming up to squeeze Akira’s shoulder, “Youweren’t sleeping, come on dude I saw you.”

Akira shook his head, his eyes focused somewhere far beyondRyuji’s shoulders, “Don’t wanna talk about it, not tonight.”

Sometimes, Akira got like this, getting him to talk was farfrom easy, and that came from Ryuji, who Akira shared the most with.

Understandingly, Ryuji nodded, “It’s okay, not tonight then….whatwere ya listenin’ to before I woke up?”

The immediate shift sparked something in Ryuji. Akira’s eyeslocked to his own, momentarily lost in panic, the same look he got when caughtout in a lie. “Oh, that was… nothing.”

Ryuji grinned, “Nothin’ huh? Then you don’t mind showin’ me?”

He knew the answer before Akira could even say it, and alsoknew that whatever was on that phone Akira was trying to keep a secret fromhim. Without waiting for a response, Ryuji lunged forward, a surge ofadrenaline fighting off all post-sleep fatigue, as he snatched the phone fromAkira’s unsuspecting hands. Oh Ryuji loved when he could finally surprise theother teen, but this wasn’t a moment for celebration.

Akira’s face further contorted into panic, “Ryuji, it’sreally not that important, just don’t-“

There, on the screen, a muted call to the voicemail. Ryujiknew instantly what Akira had been trying to hide.

“-look at the screen.” Akira slumped down into the pillows,a look of shame on his features, “Look Ryuji I-“

“It’s okay.” Ryuji sighed, facing Akira, he handed the phoneback to the suddenly wide-eyed teen, “I knew ya were gonna listen to ‘emeventually….Guess I should have explained first though.” Akira, immediatelysensing the change of mood, shifted to be staring at Ryuji face-to-face, the handnot holding the phone gripping the other’s, “I guess they were just kinda animmediate response at first? Back when I didn’t think it was real…then itstarted helping me cope? Everywhere was so quiet, so empty and dull without youthere- when I called, it was almost like we were talkin’- you know? I-I know it’skinda weird…”

“Ryuji.” The hand moved, to cup his face, “It’s not weird. Iused to imagine you were there with me all the time, it helped, thinking youwere by my side….although I’d rather you not go to juvie.” He chuckled, but itwas weak, “My point is, it means a lot, you leaving me voicemails….I wish Icould’ve heard them before now.”

A small smile twitched at Ryuji’s lips, “So, you don’t mind?”

Akira mirrored him, shaking his head lightly, “Not at all.”There was a pause, as Akira toyed with the phone, thumb tracing over the homebutton, “But I still want to listen to them tonight, I’ll wait till you fallasleep but-“

“Nah,” Ryuji’s legs once again intertwined with Akira’s ashe grabbed the phone, pressing the home button and offering the pin system tobe input, “I don’t mind. Besides, did you reach the Shujin part yet?” Akirashook his head, expression wrought with confusion as he tapped in his passcodeand let Ryuji reopen the voicemail contact, “Well, ya in for a shock. Betterhave me there to comfort you.”

At this, Akira laughed, lightly pushing at his shoulder ashe took the phone back and called the number, “Oh? My big, strong boyfriend ishere to protect me from the nasty shocks at Shujin? My hero~” He purred,giggling lightly as Ryuji’s face light up, a bright pink covering his cheeks,but before he could retort, the automated voice interrupted, directing them tothe new messages tab.

Akira pressed the appropriate keys, following the setinstructions, before setting the phone between them on loudspeaker. His handfound Ryuji’s, and together they lay entangled as Ryuji’s voice filled theattic. Akira’s thumb gently rubbing circles into the back of Ryuji’s hand,their eyes not straying from one another as they listened in silence.

They shared smiles as Ryuji cheered about getting Akira out,about how helpful all of Akira’s confidants were being, Ryuji laughed as Akira’spallor turned pale at the mention of Shujin’s most recent rumours, and hewondered how long it would take for Akira to start considering skipping thelast few months. But through that, things started to strain.

Akira couldn’t meet his eyes as Ryuji worried about thepolice at juvie, his whole body became tense the duration of that message.Whenever Ryuji started to cry or freak out, his grip on Akira’s hand wouldtighten, and Akira would start to gently run his leg up and down Ryuji’s as anact of reassurance.

Those messages seemed to last much longer than the phonecall time reported, but when the final call arrived, with Ryuji’s solid promisein turn, all of that was forgotten. Silly grins replaced any concerned frownsas the call ended. Silently, Akira closed the tab and shut off the phone,placing it on the shelving unit behind him, before turning to stare at Ryuji,and Ryuji at Akira in turn.

A moment passed between them, and just as Ryuji went to openhis mouth and say something, Akira swooped down, his lips pressing against theother’s firmly, one hand coming up to cup the boy’s face. It didn’t take longfor Ryuji to reciprocate, deepening the kiss as he pulled Akira closer. Theyshared the embrace for what may have been seconds, but didn’t quite feel likelong enough as they slowly he pulled away, Akira reaching to squeeze the blonde’shand as he did, interlacing their fingers.

“I love you.” Akira breathed, a gentle smile on his face,despite the determination and concern in his eyes, “But please, don’t ever blame yourself or beat yourself upover something like this ever again. We’re going to talk about it but…nottonight. Another time, when we’re less sleep deprived and it’s not our firstnight together in months.”

Ryuji’s lips twitched, although his shoulders slumped, “Fine,one day. But, we’re talking about juvie too.” All he got in response to thatwas a sigh, but it was sigh he’d take to mean acceptance. “Okay, now we’re gonna sleep, and that includesyou- or I’ll tell Morgana.”

Ryuji had to stifle a laugh as Akira’s eyes went wide, “You wouldn’t.”

Removing his hand from where it was interlaces with Akira’s,he swung that arm around the boy’s waist and pulled him closer. In reciprocation,Akira’s arm hugged around his chest, and his legs pulled the runner closer.

“We both know I would, so looks like ya gonna have to sleep,”Akira sighed, and it was at that point which Ryuji’s expression changed, goofysmile changing to a small frown, “Hey, I’ll be here all night, okay? Just trysleep, all I ask.”

Akira’s smile widened as he nodded, shuffling forward sothat his forehead bumped against Ryuji’s, staring right into his eyes. Nothingbut unadultered, unconditional love reflected between the two.

“I love you, so much.” Akira sighed, and Ryuji laughed, airbrushing lightly on the other teen.

“Dude you said that already.”

Akira grinned, “I like saying it.”

Ryuji shook his head slightly, and Akira couldn’t help thetwitch of mirth on his lips as his forehead rubbed against Ryuji’s, “Sometimesyou can be real effin cute, seriously.” Eyes locked back to Akira’s, hegrinned, “But I love you too.”

Their arms tightened around eachother as they began to closetheir eyes, settling down to sleep. The room was silent except for theirbreathing, limbs intertwined and as good as locked together. Slowly, Akiraopened his eyes.

“Ryuji?”

Slowly, another pair of eyes opened, hazel instantly lockingon slate-grey. Gently, Akira’s hand came up to cradle Ryuji’s face, his voicenot above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, okay? No matter what,we’ll always be together.”

Akira smiled, wide and bright, as Ryuji’s arm tightenedaround him.

“Afterall, my place is next to you, right? Then I won’t everlet you go either.”

[diasporatheblog]

Ohhh that last ask had me wondering if they (Cine, Castulian and Iskendi) had a custom of special outfits for weddings like we do with wedding dresses and all! also if its not too much to ask I'm also wondering about clothing in general for all of them? Like what kind of things and colors are common for them to wear and stuff like that! (sorry if it doesn't make much sense I'm not too sure how to word it and also sorry this is so long lol)

Seriously, worldbuilding questions are never too much of an ask. I’m a huge lore nerd for basically everything I’ve ever been into, and getting an excuse to think about the minutiae of our own world is like the Best Thing™, so don’t ever hesitate to ask me/us this kind of stuff.

I’ll cover these one by one again, starting with the general manners of dress and then moving on to the specific occasional customs that go with weddings and such.

The Cine:

The Cine are, as you all know by now, typically a northern people. This isn’t to say that all of them live in fantasy Norway or Greenland or whatever, but the region they’re from does average much colder than the Mediterranean-like climate of Tarracina and the surrounding areas. Because it’s hard to cultivate plants in the Cine homeland (one of several reasons the culture raids), there aren’t a lot of textile fabrics available, except what they happen to be able to steal. So a lot of Cine clothing is fashioned from animal products like fur, wool, skins, and leather, as well as what basic plant matter they can get.

They are also a seafaring people, and so for the most part, heavy metal armor and such is a no-go, meaning that even when dressed for battle they usually stick to the same materials, even if the design and function is otherwise entirely different. Clan Maghnus had enough raiding success, and was in general located in a region warm enough, that this was supplemented by other material like hemp and linen. So on any given Cine from the PC’s clan, clothing is likely to be a mix of those elements. Designs favor trousers, tunics, short cloaks or vests for warmth (rather than long cloaks that might get tangled in rigging), and so on. Footwear is usually boots, and very often someone’s shoes are the most carefully-made article on their person. Cine boots have to keep water out, be sturdy enough for battle or serious hiking, not slip on a wet deck, but also be warm enough for snow. It’s a lot, and one of the most acceptable uses of magic is shoring up the properties of clothing items like that.

In the warmer seasons, Cine tend to forego sleeves first, and some will switch to longer tunics that hit the knee without the need for breeches. On land in warmer months/climes, variations on the theme can include shorter shoes with winingas (leg wraps to keep pant legs out of the way) and the occasional dress. The practicality of all this does not preclude some ornamentation, and Cine jewelry is a wide selection of raided items in metals that can’t be melted down for better use (such as gold, which is much too soft), and more natively carved bone, antler or obsidian articles. The Cine favor decorating their hair and beards over most other kinds of ornamentation, but cuffs, earrings, necklaces and bangles are not uncommon either. A nice set of embossed or worked leather armor is also a common symbol of status, especially given the culture’s emphasis on the value of battle and those who participate in it.

Cosmetics are by and large unheard of, with the exception of woad, which is sometimes painted on the body and face in various patterns. Some of the patterns have specific meanings and are worn at specific times, but others are just decorative and accord with the preferences of the individual. Roise’s woad patterns, for example, are a personal touch and don’t have anything to do with her position as Chief, though if she goes into battle, the patterns change to indicate her standing in the clan. The Cine tend to wear their hair long, or their beards in the case of those who want to/can grow those. This is not at all a rule, and exceptions exist untroubled.

There aren’t any particular types of clothing reserved for weddings; pretty much everyone is expected to wear their best, whatever that best may be. This means some people show up in a nice linen tunic and some people in their fanciest armor—it’s really the individual’s choice. White is the color of Cine death shrouds, so no one wears primarily white to a wedding. Traditionally, both of the couple getting married will wear green, as it’s the color associated by the Cine with life rather than death. One item, like a sash or something, is plenty, and since vivid dyes are hard to come by, the item is often an heirloom. There are some other ceremonies that demand more formal attire, such as the annual coming-of-age day. The young people participating do wear white, as the day represents the symbolic death of one self and rebirth of another. (Sometimes this has a lot of meaning, as coming-of-age day is when one declares one’s gender and intended profession, sometimes against all expectations and patterns in one’s life thus far.)

Castulia:

Castulians typically wear fewer layers of clothing than the Cine do, because the main part of the Empire is quite warm. It’s a very large empire, though, and so at its more remote corners, styles of dress show strong influence from conquered populations, and those on the northern border do tend towards thicker garments. But by and large, the fabrics involved are linen, cotton, and for the more upper-class, silk or satin as well. Most common are long tunics, varying from knee to ankle length, with shawls, capes, or light cloaks worn in various arrangements over the shoulders and body. Dye is available, but rather expensive, as are magical alternatives to natural dye. This is often graded by color, with purple being the most expensive and thus something of a status symbol. The military favors red (for perhaps obvious reasons), and the priesthoods wear mostly white or grey by rank, but with accented accessories or smaller pieces (belts, sashes, wraps, headscarves, and so on) in colors appropriate to their deity. Most Sages wear all and only white, however.

As far as other touches go, metal jewelry (with or without precious stones) is quite common in Castulia. The designs vary widely, and a lot of influence from the former nations that make up the Empire can be seen in regional variants. There’s definitely some stylistic divergence by gender, but the greater differences are those across classes and professions. Soldiers like Sangarinus typically don’t wear much if anything like that, and depending on the trade, tradespeople also have to be selective, but those in the civic and mercantile professions tend to prefer at least one or two pieces at a time. It is vanishingly-rare to see a Castulian pierced anywhere but the ears, and though they will often make artistic use of dyes on the body (think henna), permanent tattooing is also very uncommon. 

Like with accessories, cosmetics range across class and occupation, but it’s not unusual to see eyeliners or lipstains, and those in more aesthetically particular professions may also elect for shadows or powders. Lighter touches are preferred so as not to melt off in the heat of a Castulian summer. While eyeliner is fairly ubiquitous across genders, the rest tends to show up much more frequently on the feminine (or, e.g., actors and artists).

Castulians differentiate more between formal attire and the rest than the Cine do. Some garments (such as togas) are considered occasional in the same way a three-piece suit is. And even when formality is not garment specific, the quality of fabric or ornateness of embroidery will often mark a tunic, dress, or whatever off as being for fancier occasions. Castulians getting married will wear either a dress, a toga, or the formal version of the military uniform, if they are soldiers. There are no specific wedding colors, as the same general rule about dyes and things applies, and most people honestly just choose whatever color is their favorite, or sometimes whichever is associated with their family heraldry.

The military has uniforms: formal, informal, and full battle gear. The most commonly seen on Castulian streets is the informal, which is usually a red tunic with half-length sleeves, optionally a layer of padding, a long shirt of scale or chain mail, and then usually a leather chestplate, though sometimes these are metal in the case of heavier infantry. Belts, bracers, and the like accompany this, along with either boots or in some months knee-high sandals, and ocrea (greaves). There are also helmets, but these are rarely worn outside the context of battle or patrol. Officers additionally have special types of cloak, the color and stitching identifying their rank. Depending on where the soldier is stationed, breeches or leggings may serve as an additional layer of warmth, and tunics may be modified to have longer sleeves. Uniforms for the cavalry are heavier, and for the navy are lighter, often lacking the scale or chain in favor of additional padding or simply leather.

The Iskendi:

The life of an Iskendi is lived either primarily on board a ship, or occasionally in small, mobile settlements on islands. They tend to favor clothing in bright colors, the material mostly being what they can steal from Castulia, or manufacture from their limited horticulture. Access to magical means of color alteration is much easier, however, as they’re fewer in number but with a very high proportion of mages in the population, so dyes are seldom necessary. If the Iskendi wear armor at all, it is also stolen, so scavenged and piecemeal bits of Castulian uniforms are not uncommon to see.

Captains tend to be associated with particular colors; for example, Meryem wore a lot of red and gold. Her crew followed suit, and in this way they are recognizable as belonging to a single unit. There is of course variation; not all of Baltasar’s garments are purple or blue, but there’s nevertheless a clear theme, and it distinguishes one group from another quite easily. The Iskendi are also more likely than either the Cine or Castulians to forego certain articles in everyday situations: shoes, for example. Typical Iskendi style is for looser, more draping garments as one moves up the hierarchy. While any captain certainly knows how to rig a sail, it’s part of the status of being captain that they don’t usually have to, so while ordinary crew often tie down sleeves and such while they go about their work, officers typically don’t. The quality of clothing follows a sharp gradation with status, one emphasized by the fact that most everyone is wearing the same color, as the other differences are then more obvious to the eye.

The Iskendi favor jewelry both as ornamentation and for the practical purpose of being able to barter or gamble with it amongst each other. Multiple piercings are the norm, especially around the face: ears, eyebrows, noses, lips, and the like. They also decorate hair and beards like the Cine do, but usually with gold or silver rather than bone or antler.

Given the tight quarters and need for efficiency, there aren’t really any formalwear standards to speak of. Iskendi sailors and settlers alike wear what they have, and keep it in good condition whenever possible, as it’s often hard to say when they’ll be able to replace it. Cosmetics, like finer fabrics, are a luxury item, but quite popular aesthetically. Iskendi also frequently get tattoos, usually centering around some theme of personal significance or particularly-important autobiographical events. Some designs are even shared amongst families, a way of keeping the most important pieces of their history alive.

[chaoswillfallrpg]

POPPY HOOKUM is TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD and an ILLUSTRATOR for THE POLITICS PAGE at THE QUIBBLER. They look remarkably like LIV HEWSON and consider themselves aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. They are currently OPEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

An activist and a fearless fighter with a heart of gold, Poppy Hookum believes passionately in equal rights for everyone who calls the wizarding world their home. The youngest child of GEORGE and ROSE HOOKUM, Poppy grew up in a rather fantastical household where imagination reigned supreme. Their middle sister DAISY, preferred to live in worlds they had created and Poppy’s childhood was filled with memories of Daisy pulling her sisters along on great expeditions. Daisy was a dreamer and although Poppy appreciated her efforts they could never quite relate to her. Poppy did not share their sister’s imagination. They were very matter of fact even as a child and although traipsing around in the wind looking for fairy rings was fun to Daisy it seemed like a pointless exercise to Poppy given everyone knew pixies were more commonly found in Cornwall. Their eldest sister PRIMROSE was a dreamer of another kind. Primrose looked at the world in front of her and wondered how she could make it beautiful, which sadly included dressing up Poppy to look like a pot doll and attempting to curl their already curly hair into tight ringlets and fashion princess style gowns for them to parade around in. In their younger years Poppy would try their best to rifle out of the clutches of their sisters and their games but as they got older they tended to go along with things to make them happy, even if they did sulk about it thereafter. 

Poppy was the blunt one of their family, with a perpetually knitted expression worn on their face and their nose buried in a copy of The Daily Prophet which made the rest of their family laugh.Everyone in Poppy’s family was eccentric, including Poppy though they had a hard time seeing it. They all seemed ridiculous to Poppy including their cousins who were just as crazy as Poppy’s sisters. BILLIUS WEASLEY somehow managed to make Primrose seem subdued in her style, whilst ARTHUR was hopping and obsessed with anything vaguely related to Muggles which Poppy found most peculiar. The only person who understood them in their family was their middle cousin FREDRICK. A few years older than Poppy, their family would laugh as everyone would run and play around the Weasley burrow leaving Poppy and Fredrick to sit reading wearing spectacles that didn’t help them see any better. An interest in current affairs ran in the family and whilst living in the fantastical never interested Poppy, dreaming of their life one day working at The Daily Prophet was a dream they allowed themself to indulge in. Their father George was a very famous journalist who covered the ousting of NOBBY LEACH from office and was largely responsible for the rumours which began to perpetuate about ABRAXAS MALFOY helping him be forced out of office. Poppy’s father believed in doing everything you could to change the world around you and was a very passionate journalist who believed in equality. 

The Hookum family were a longstanding Pure-Blood family in wizarding Britain with ties to Sacred Twenty-Eight families, but that didn’t matter to their father. What mattered was using his status to do what was right and it was an ideology they carried forth fiercely at school. Sorted into Gryffindor, Poppy was the last of their family to attend Hogwarts just behind their estranged cousins ALECTO and AMYCUS CARROW, whom Poppy utterly despised. None of their family spoke to that particular purist branch of their family tree but Poppy took their disdain one step further, openly challenging Amycus and Alecto whenever they got the chance and saw them doing something horrible and wicked, which happened to be a great deal. Poppy had hoped that their ghastly cousins were in the minority in their wickedness though Poppy soon discovered that was not the case. Alecto and Amycus were part of a larger rot of self important purists which included the likes of JASPER AVERY, LARKIN MULCIBER and SEVERUS SNAPE whom she saw bully and belittle people on the daily. Poppy’s fellow Gryffindors LILY EVANS and MARY MACDONALD were often a victim of prejudiced bullying, frequently tormented simply because they were Muggle-Borns. They were outraged. People like their cousins and their fellow nasty Slytherins needed to be stopped and Poppy was determined to do so. 

So began their activism, containing on from CHARITY BURBAGE and BENJY FENWICK’s hard work from their days at Hogwarts, Poppy fought under the banner of Sorcerers for Equality, starting hallway duels, pulling stunts and earning a number of detentions from PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL in the process. Poppy’s name was a famous one known for quite literally getting on top of a soapbox and preaching to their fellow students about equality. Thankfully Poppy wasn’t alone in their exactions and their antics attracted fellow supporters. CARDORAC DEARBORN had been Poppy’s friend since sitting down at the Gryffindor table during first year and the two had only gotten closer since then. Cardorac was like the brother Poppy hadn’t had, having always preferred the company of wizards and other non-binary sorcerers compared to their very feminine sisters. Cardorac always had Poppy’s back, happy to jump to their defense and plaster the school full of posters with Charity and Benjy’s teachings. It was more than Poppy’s own sisters did for them at the very least. Caught up in their careers, Primrose seemed more intent on making dresses for the enemy whilst Daisy focused on running her silly little newspaper which mostly printed gossip rather than anything of importance. Poppy had always thought her family held the same beliefs as they did but when push came to shove they could only rely on her friends and Arthur to be by their side. 

Some of Poppy’s friends had disappointed them in this area also. Since first year, Poppy, Caradoc, DEMETRIUS MCLAGGEN and GWENOG JONES had been inseparable. But as they grew older and Poppy and Caradoc’s eyes had widened to the problems occurring in their world, Gwenog and Demetrius had shied away from controversy. The excuses they made were flimsy, especially for Gwenog whose family had positions at The Ministry that could inflict change and had a girlfriend at the time who held very similar beliefs. Despite how much Poppy loved Gwenog, her unwillingness to join their cause and her relationship DORCAS MEADOWES was a slight point of contention in their relationship. Poppy had always held a candle for Dorcas and was ashamed to say they were somewhat relieved to hear when Dorcas and Gwen decided to go their separate ways and began to become quietly better friends with Dorcas behind Gwen’s back. Leaving school, Poppy wasn’t quite sure how to inflect the most change. Caradoc and Dorcas were training to be Aurors which had never suited Poppy and they were quite sure The Prophet would never have them after hearing about what they’d been up to at school. Poppy needed a plan and then suddenly a job offer fell square in their lap. Famous for their posters, boards and signs that often depicted various purists as hilarious cartoons, Poppy was approached by XENOPHILIUS LOVEGOOD for a job at his magazine The Quibbler, working alongside their idol Charity Burbage. 

Poppy couldn’t have said yes fast enough and although they saw themselves mostly taking to the streets to protest after graduation being paid to draw alongside an icon was pretty much their dream job. Working with Charity has been a blessing for Poppy and they would consider them somewhat of a friend after all the trouble they’d stirred after their article on the arrest of SILAS CRUMP was posted all over London. Although it was scary to have the Ministry have an eye on them both Poppy knew how important their work was and wasn’t scared into silence for having a target on their back. It was this utter fearlessness that led to Charity introducing Poppy to ALASTOR MOODY and joining the ranks of The Order of The Phoenix. Discovering there was an underground organisation trying to link the recent string of deaths and disappearances in London to one wizard as wild to Poppy but they were very committed to lending a hand. A bit of a hot head, Poppy has been assigned GLENDA CHITTOCK as a mentor who although is lacking in duelling ability is extremely stealthy and a very smooth talker. Helping them control their impulses to rush into situations and think more smartly, Poppy is enjoying learning from Glenda and has been helping them investigate a string of upper class villains they think are hiding amongst the upper class and are currently on the tale of mysterious French witch OPHELIA DELACOUR.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → They/Them

Identification → Non-Binary

Sexuality  → Queer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education →  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → Sorcerers for Equality 

Family → Primrose Jorkins (sister), Daisy Hookum (sister), Billius Weasley (cousin), Fredrick Weasley (cousin), Arthur Weasley (cousin), Amycus Carrow (estranged cousin/adversary), Alecto Carrow (estranged cousin/adversary)

Connections  → Cardorac Dearborn (best friend), Demetrius McLaggen (close friend), Gwenog Jones (close friend), Maren Linwood (close friend), Emilia Grey (close friend), Cassiopeia Kim (close friend), Cressida Abercrombie (close friend), Aurora Sinistra (close friend), Tilden Toots (close friend), Saoirse MacMillan (friend/colleague), Charity Burbage (friend/colleague/idol), Glenda Chittock (mentor/friend), Dorcas Meadowes (friend/object of affection), Mary MacDonald (friend), Lily Evans (friend), Marlene McKinnon (friend), Ophelia Delacour (person of interest), Benjy Fenwick (idol) 

Future Information → N/A

POPPY HOOKUM IS A LEVEL 5 SORCERER.